Close Encounters 1
by chezchuckles
Summary: an AU from Cartographical's list: What if Richard Castle was a spy? with special thanks to mjsofter for the cover art
1. Chapter 1

**Close Encounters**

* * *

for cartographical, for that hole that won't be filled

* * *

Detective Kate Beckett hadn't taken back-up with her, because Beckett never took back-up.

She did her best work alone, and besides, her team - Ryan and Esposito - were still looking for plausible altitude chambers where the astrophysicist could've been murdered.

The Plainsboro Observatory had been a long shot, but Beckett had gotten to talk with a researcher there, Harrison, and it had paid off. Marie Subbaro, the murder victim, had taken an image capture as proof.

But of what?

Beckett had that deep sensation in her chest - the tightening crest of discovery, something almost illicit in the sense of secrets and danger - and she curled her fingers in the steering wheel and checked her rear view mirror again.

She _was_ being followed.

This case just got weirder and weirder.

Research for SETI, men in black, the victim's office suite disappearing, and yes, something had been embedded in the woman's sinus cavity.

She'd seen _The X-Files_ in high school; she'd been a fan, had followed the twisted and strange story lines. When her mother had been murdered, she'd turned to police procedural shows and true crime novels for comfort, for answers that weren't forthcoming in her own life, but she couldn't shake the need for strange.

She liked the weird ones, as her co-workers could attest. But more than that, she liked making _sense_ of the weird ones. They had a. . .Beckett flavor.

There was always a reason, always an answer - you just had to know what questions to ask. She attacked her cases aggressively and had one of the highest solve rates in the city.

So, yeah. Beckett was not a believer, but her brain was kicking over strange rocks and finding otherworldly bugs beneath them.

Like the car currently following her.

* * *

Castle had been following Detective Beckett for four days.

He knew her inside and out, watched her sip her coffee on the subway - grande skim latte two pumps fat-free vanilla, measured her pace as she strode towards the 12th precinct, could accurately predict where her fifteen minute break would fall, and even got to her lunch order ahead of her.

He knew her.

He'd been observing for four days, and he thought, he really thought, she might make the perfect asset.

If he could convince his father to sign off on it.

Always easier to ask forgiveness than permission, he always said.

So he went in for the close.

* * *

Just like that, her car died.

Beckett gripped the wheel as all mechanical life stalled.

Switched off, everything. No engine, no headlights, a deep and painful quiet that set her heart to hammering.

The car slowly rolled to a stop. She put it in park, and then reached for the keys, turned the ignition off, tried to restart it. Nothing.

Dead battery?

She pulled her phone out of her pocket, but glanced in her rear view mirror. The car that had been following her was gone; the headlights swallowed up by the black night. Beckett swiped her thumb over her phone and finally looked at its face.

Nothing.

Absolutely dead.

What the hell?

Suddenly a brilliant and brutal light blazed through the interior of the car, beaming from directly overhead with a violence that had her hand coming up to shield her eyes.

Beckett leaned to get a look through her side window, but there was only relentless, unending white.

* * *

Special Agent Richard Castle stepped carefully into the darkness of the interrogation room, hands behind his back as he watched the two agents carry the limp detective to a chair.

Gorgeous.

He narrowed his eyes and set his jaw, stood back while they handcuffed her to the specially made rings soldered to the chair. He fought the urge to help, stayed where he was, studied her.

Crichton and Patterson set up the lamp, directly in front of the chair, but Castle raised a hand and dismissed them before they could turn it on. She'd rouse soon enough, and the relative darkness hid his facial expressions from the rest of them.

He needed a moment more to gather himself.

She was persistent; he'd give her that.

He still didn't know how he was going to deal with this one. Sensitive information, a potential traitor to the country, and here she was - strutting through his case in those four-inch heels.

Castle shifted forward and put his hand to the back of the klieg light.

But he still didn't turn it on.

Seven years of professional experience, and he'd never balked at his job. His father would-

Castle grit his teeth and snapped on the light.

* * *

Beckett roused sharply, white brilliance peeling back her eyelids. She grunted and slit her eyes, but could make out nothing.

Into the light came the black form of a man.

"Who are you?" she said, tried to remember what had happened. The car. The light overhead. Nothing else. "I'm a detective with the NYPD."

No response.

"You're going to regret this," she growled.

Nothing.

She yanked on her bindings, heard the rattle of metal and felt the painful cut of handcuffs into her wrists.

The man made a noise, leaned forward, his face still steeped in shadow. "I wouldn't."

She sucked in a breath and glared. "Who are you? What is this?

"Marie Subbaro had-"

"Are you _serious?_" she hissed. The man reached out and stilled her struggling with a hard grip on her shoulder. His fingers were strong; the contact zipped through her body, his nearness as unrelenting as the light.

"Don't. You'll only bruise your wrists."

She swallowed and avoided the chase of shivers down her spine with supreme effort of will. "Who are you-"

"Where is it?"

She startled. "Where's _what_?"

"We all know what Subbaro was involved with. Don't play with me, Detective Beckett."

"So you do know who I am. And you must know I won't let you get away with this."

The shadow broke and reformed, arms crossed, head tilted towards her. She couldn't make out any features, couldn't even see the color of his eyes. Only felt the electric thrill of his voice in the darkness.

"That information can't be allowed to get out, Detective."

She gritted her teeth and stared straight into the glare of the light, the man resolved in front of it - all darkness and outline.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Just trying to have a conversation here-"

"Then take the damn handcuffs off of me, switch off the light, and _man up_."

Immediately the light powered down, plunging them into the black. She hadn't even seen him move.

In the reigning silence, she sensed movement, a wash of air over her cheek; her skin prickled, but she wasn't afraid.

"You like me better in the dark, Detective?"

* * *

Castle felt her go very still, the harsh sound of her breath echoing in the room. He could smell the musk of her, the sweat that wasn't fear but adrenaline and determination, and she was glorious.

"I'd like it even better with these cuffs off," she said, her voice pitched low and stroking over him.

He stiffened and stood, took a step back with his hands clenched. He was tempted to uncuff her. He was tempted to keep her cuffed and see what-

No.

"Let's start small," he murmured, his voice coming out amused. Good. "How about you tell me where Subbaro-"

"How about you tell me why the hell I should tell you anything?" she growled back. "I can only assume a government agency has abducted a US citizen on US soil. Not only that, but I'm a cop working a homicide case. You care so little for justice-"

"What I care about, Detective, is saving the lives of the people who remain. Not dwelling over the people already taken from us."

He heard her breath hitch and remembered the profile he'd worked on her - was this the ghost of her murdered mother?

It worked, because he felt her shift in the darkness, the feral sound that came from her chest when he spoke over her indignation.

"So, Detective. How about we try again? Where is that information?"

"I already told you. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're lying," he said softly, and came closer, couldn't help himself. She was alluring, and it was so black he could only imagine the soft struggle of her chest as she fought to keep her breathing even, her body from panicking, her wrists-

He heard the clatter of metal again and moved around the chair to reach down and grip her by the wrists.

"Stop. You'll only hurt yourself."

"What do you care?"

"I care."

"Could've fooled me. Why don't you come around here and-"

"Why? So you can headbutt me? I don't think so, Beckett."

She chuckled and he suddenly realized that he _really_ admired this woman. He stood up straighter, stared through the dark at where her head would be, and then shoved his hand into his pocket for the key.

He was a damn fool.

* * *

She startled when she felt his hands on hers, the soft caress of his fingertips. The metal bracelets clattered together as she moved in surprise, but he was pushing his thumb into the soft heel of her hand to hold her steady and _unlocking the cuffs_.

What the hell?

She tensed to move and felt his breath at her cheek, his body so close just behind hers.

"Surprise me, Beckett, and stay in the chair."

She damn well surprised herself; she didn't move. She felt him use his thumb to spring open the cuff and it dropped from around her wrist; his fingers were gentle as he moved to release the other hand.

Her heart pounded hard, the rush of blood through her veins throbbed where his fingers skimmed the inside of her wrist. He wrapped his hands around hers and drew her arms forward, his chest against the back of the chair and his cheek scraping against hers.

Scruff that set her nerve endings on fire.

Beckett squeezed her eyes shut and fought to control her breathing, keep her hands steady as she crossed her arms.

"How's that, Detective Beckett?" he murmured, and she felt his hands skim the outside of her arms and up to her shoulders before he stepped away.

She took in a deep breath, smelled him so tantalizingly near. "You have me at a disadvantage. I don't know _your_ name."

"If I told you," he drawled. "I'd have to kill you. And you are much too beautiful to die today."

"Good to know," she growled back, turning her head in the darkness to look, but she still couldn't see him. Her night vision had been ruined by the light; it would take a while before she'd adjust.

"Mostly a joke. Trying to start over here, Detective."

From his voice, he was circling her chair and coming around on her left; she reached out on a guess and managed to snag the leg of his pants, felt the sharp tension crackle through him, that instinctive cop-reflex as he went for his gun.

She smiled in the darkness. "Start over, huh? Well, you can start by telling me your name."

"Agent Castle," he said suddenly, and she felt the air being displaced in front of her, the drag of a metal chair against the concrete floor.

His knees touched hers for a moment before moving away.

"Is that your real name?" she asked.

He huffed, and she felt - _knew_ - he was grinning.

"No. Course not. But it's the name I use."

She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. "Of course."

"And you're Kate Beckett."

"I suppose you've been following me."

"I suppose."

"How long have you been peeping in front of my window, Castle?"

She heard his chuckle in the darkness like a warm hand, felt her chest tighten at the sound.

"You're good at this, Detective."

"You've yet to impress me," she shot back.

He laughed out loud at that and then his hand came her cheek, stroked hair back from her face and behind her ear. She went still, sucked in a breath, and knew he felt that too.

He was actually damn good at this.

"Kate," he murmured.

Jeez. Her hands were _not_ trembling.

"Tell me what Marie did with the information, and then you and I can-"

She let out a breath and laughed. "I don't have it. Nice try, Agent Castle, but I got nothing you want."

"On the contrary." Suddenly his hand was at her neck, thumb stroking over her lips. "You're exactly what I want."


	2. Chapter 2

**Close Encounters**

* * *

*in case it was not made obvious, this is an alternate universe set during 'Close Encounters of the Murderous Kind'*

* * *

_She let out a breath and laughed. "I don't have it. Nice try, Agent Castle, but I got nothing you want."_

_"On the contrary." Suddenly his hand was at her neck, thumb stroking over her lips. "You're exactly what I want."_

* * *

He felt her body so rigid, so hard in the chair, the way she tensed her jaw to keep from letting a single thing betray her.

And that alone betrayed her.

He had her.

It always worked best when he played Good Cop.

He stood, dropping his hand from her, surprised at the way his palm tingled, the way his fingers ached to touch her, slide through that soft hair, tug her closer until her mouth slanted over his and opened-

His methods of interrogation usually didn't affect him like this.

Of course, none of his subjects had been Smoking Hot Detective Beckett before.

"Come with me," he said gruffly, heard the arousal in his voice and was damn grateful he'd had the forethought to turn off the recording devices.

"Where are we going?" she said, but she stood even as she questioned him, on her own two feet, taking it as it came.

She'd fight to the bitter end, but if he could make her trust him, she'd fight _with_ him more than against him.

"I'm going to show you what we're up against," he said finally. "And then you decide if you're what I need."

It was still dark, but he knew his way, so he put his hand to the small of her back and guided her towards the door.

To her credit, she walked gracefully at his side, her steps never faltering.

* * *

"When did you start tracking my car?" she asked quietly.

Castle shot her a look, surprised, but he shouldn't have been. She was intelligent - scarily so. It was damn attractive.

"When you first showed up at the science center," he admitted. Eastman would chew him out for going entirely off-book on this one, but his father would back him up. Eventually. When he got results.

Beckett frowned. "I didn't notice until the next day," she said, shaking her head slightly.

"The next. . .you knew?"

She smirked at him, quirked an eyebrow. "Of course. I _saw_ you following me, Agent. You're not such hot stuff as you think."

It was only his training that kept him from stopping in surprise. "You. Saw me?" He was one of the best. Sure, he hadn't been on high alert, but he'd been careful.

"You followed me to get coffee, you were in Remy's for lunch twice, and again outside the Science Center this afternoon."

Hm, okay. Only four of the nineteen times he'd surveilled her. That wasn't acceptable, but it wasn't as bad as he'd first thought. "You're good," he admitted.

"And you underestimated me." She crossed her arms as they walked. "Tonight. You took out my car with-?"

"An EMP."

"Electromagnetic pulse," she sighed.

"Yes."

"So it's a routine you do," Beckett said, following at his side down the corridor. "Knock out the car, phone, radio, then the bright light. And what? You drugged me?"

"Works," he said simply. "Most people are too embarrassed to say what happened. Bright light? Lost time? Works well for us."

"You pick up all your women with the alien routine, Castle?"

He barked a laugh and found himself slowing down as he looked at her. She stopped because he did, because he was leading the way, and he liked the look of her - brassy, sharp, mysterious. She was making him break all his rules.

"So far, just you," he answered finally.

She lifted an eyebrow. No words necessary.

_You haven't got me._

Yet.

* * *

"Why all this fuss over an astrophysicist who analyzes radio signals?" she murmured, pausing before the door that he was holding open.

Castle nodded with his head for her to enter, but she still refused, balked in the hallway.

"Maybe Marie Subbarao wasn't who you thought she was," he answered finally.

"Who was she?"

"Come inside, will you?" He lifted a hand and snagged her hip, manhandled her through the door. He knew her well enough now - after four days of round the clock surveillance - to know that she'd never let a soul touch her like that.

But he had. And he'd lived.

So she _was_ his. He had her already.

"Agent. . .Castle? Maybe you'd like to explain what's going on here." She was glaring at him again, arms crossed over her chest as she stood just inside his command center. The hum of computer fans, the monitors just behind her head, the vast interactive digital screen just to her left - she ignored it all, kept her eyes on him. He shut the door behind them and leaned back against it, surveying her slowly.

She had the grace and composure not to blush; she merely perused him back. When her eyes traveled up to meet his, he saw the momentary flicker of her gaze down to his lips and it clenched a fist in his guts.

"Why don't you tell me?" he said, watching her tongue touch her bottom lip and retreat. His blood was pounding in his hands, his neck, his chest. He wanted to touch her again.

"A murdered astrophysicist. I've got a guy on my team who's freaking out about little green men and how his cousin once got raptured or abducted or whatever, but. . ."

He waited for it, watched her mind work behind her eyes. Startling, intense, brilliant. Brittle in a way he couldn't yet understand, couldn't pull apart - something to do with her dead mother, her calling as a detective. And while that was usually his m.o. - pull them apart, put them back together as his own - he wasn't sure he wanted to break her like that.

This was his job - interrogation, the story - and while he had no qualms breaking down suspects, witnesses, assets - anyone who became involved in national security - Kate Beckett was nominal, unique. He wanted to preserve the stubborn streak, tease it out, play with it.

Let it run wild.

"I don't believe in the alien thing," she murmured. "This isn't Men in Black. You're with what agency? You've kidnapped an NYPD detective, sedated her, gone with the alien-abduction scenario. . .CIA? NSA? Homeland Security?"

He grunted at the affront. "Please. Homeland Security?"

She let loose a slow smile that seared his guts and made him stand up straight from the door.

"CIA, then."

He lifted an eyebrow. She took it as the confirmation he'd intended and her arms dropped to her sides, her body opened up to him.

He had her. She was his.

"So what do you need me for?" she said carefully, lifting an eyebrow to match his, a smirk teasing her lips.

"Subbarao procured sensitive information. We need that information back."

She narrowed her eyes and stalked forward; he could see her mind again at work, and he wondered how closely she'd brush against the truth, how closely she might brush against him as well.

"We found cigarettes at the crime scene. Chinese cigarettes. Are you telling me Subbarao was a spy? A traitor selling secrets to the Chinese?"

When he said nothing, she took that last step, her body hot and riddled with tension, practically humming before him. He found himself squeezing his hands into fists to keep from touching her, his eyes trapped by the movement of her lips, his mouth parting involuntarily as she stood in his space.

"Castle," she murmured quietly, intensely, her voice like raw silk. "Just what is this information you think she had?"

"Something that can get a lot of men killed," he said gruffly. "Transmissions between the Pacific fleet and the Pentagon. And if the Chinese have them. . ."

She quirked a triumphant eyebrow and he slowly shut his eyes.

Damn.

He didn't have her at all.

She had him.

* * *

"Nothing I say leaves this room," he started.

Beckett stepped back, pleasure humming in her blood. She'd flipped him, just like that. He'd been so smug, so arrogant in that interrogation room, but the moment he released her from the cuffs, she knew she could work a confession from him.

"Beckett," he grunted. "I need your word. Nothing-"

"-you say leaves the room. I got it." She half-turned in her spot, let her eyes trail his equipment, the wide space of conference table, monitors, satellite uplink, some kind of fancy projection screen. "Nice Batcave."

She heard his grunt of surprise and turned to face him, saw that he wasn't a man often taken by surprise.

He cleared his throat, took one step closer. "Batman fan?"

"Comic book fan." She lifted an eyebrow, saw his lips twitch. He kept his face as carefully guarded as she did; she liked how she'd managed to break that facade. "Didn't discover that while you were following me, did you?"

He sighed, but his eyes were amused. "You're like an onion. Just when I thought I knew what I was dealing with. . ."

Beckett lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "So many layers, Castle. How ever will you peel them all?"

His lips twitched and he sank down to the edge of the table, pushed a chair out with his foot for her. She declined, propped herself up against the table as well, wanted to remain on eye level with him.

"Last month we determined that an enemy operative had obtained access to a classified, coded data stream between the Pacific fleet and the Pentagon. The seller of this information was never pinpointed, but we've seen a slow leak ever since."

"And you think my dead astrophysicist is involved?" She arched an eyebrow beause, frankly, she didn't believe it for a minute. Marie Subbarao was all about nerdy star searching, and while, yes, she'd had a life-altering event - it'd been _in the past week_, not a month ago.

"I think your dead astrophysicist wouldn't be dead if she wasn't."

"Where's your proof, G-man?"

He grinned at her, a full-fledged thing that made his eyes wrinkle at the corners so that the blue was all but eclipsed. His mouth was tempting like that, the hard line of his jaw. She leaned back to keep from leaning in.

"What'd you pick up at Plainsboro Observatory?" he countered.

"Nothing."

"I don't believe you," he said softly, and even though he still kept a fraction of that smile on his face, the warmth had disappeared. He was disappointed in her?

"I truly got nothing. She made an image capture, erased the data after she did it. I'm not holding back on you, Agent Castle."

"An image?" he scoffed.

"Well, most likely a series of images - the woman I spoke to seemed to think it was a fragment of video."

"A video," he frowned, but she saw he was working on something. He was putting the pieces together.

"You gonna share with the class, Castle?"

He lifted startled eyes to her and shook his head. "What?"

"I shared. Your turn. What does this have to do with the Chinese?"

He narrowed his eyes, studied her slowly. She didn't mind - his gaze was electric and piercing at the same time, arousing and cutting. She found herself wishing his hands would follow, but maybe after this all was over. . .

CIA Agent?

No, Beckett.

If she thought life with Will had been bad. . .

"Give, Castle. The Chinese. The Pacific fleet. My murder case, remember?"

"She's our source."

"I highly doubt that," Beckett countered. "Doesn't fit the timeline."

"She tasked her radio telescope to point at our satellite during the very times that coincide with our intercepted transmissions. How's that for timeline, Beckett?"

"She showed absolutely _no_ signs of it. No one's that good," she shot back, standing up now to crowd him. "Earlier this week, she freaks out, heads to the observatory - not her own research station - and takes a video, a picture, something. And then she ends up dead. That's not the action of a woman casually selling state secrets."

"You'd be surprised," he gruffed.

"I wouldn't."

He watched her a long moment. "We need that information."

"Well, it's my guess that whoever killed her also wanted that information. So if we work together to catch her killer - you just might find your information."

And then he lifted his head and his eyes bore straight into hers, deadly, accurate, cold.

"I already know exactly who killed her, Detective Beckett. And it won't do you a bit of good."

* * *

"Her _handler_?" Beckett sneered. "Right. I know you're used to seeing conspiracies at every turn, but let me clue you in. Murder is much simpler than that."

"Not when you actually are in the middle of a conspiracy," he groused, crossing his arms as he glared at her.

Seriously, he was like a petulant _child_. She scraped a hand through her hair and breathed through it, started over again. "Marie Subbarao freaked out the last week of her life - everyone thought she was acting strangely. What self-respecting espionage agent would risk blowing her cover?"

Castle was staring her down, but she could see the hint of doubt had taken seed in his eyes.

"She. . ."

"She's not the spy," Beckett affirmed. "Doesn't fit the timeline."

"You and the damn timeline." He scrubbed both hands down his face and suddenly he looked tired, weary of it, and she wondered how long he'd been doing this. How long this case, how long this life.

"It doesn't fit," she said again. "Marie's not your spy. She's a murdered astrophysicist, and I need to find her killer."

He looked so defeated that she had the urge to reach out and brush the hair off his forehead, take his hand and squeeze.

"That information is out there," he said hollowly. "A lot of lives are at stake."

All that boyish charm was subsumed by the cold reality of his job; he wasn't just moping about being wrong, he was seriously in trouble.

"Look, you want your information back? Then help me find her killer. She was murdered for a reason - it was _her_ telescope that intercepted those coded data streams."

His eyes lifted to hers, hope flaring. "Someone at that science center is our traitor," he said slowly. "And they probably killed her when she started making waves. So. What's our next move?"

"_Our_ move?"

"You're the homicide detective. Detect." He wriggled an eyebrow at her, and damn, he was attractive. And so very smooth. Had the crestfallen look on his face been an act to garner her sympathy, draw her to his side?

It'd worked.

"You have a phone I can use?" Beckett asked, holding her hand out. "Your EMP toasted mine."

"Why do you need a phone?"

"Call my team. I'm sure we've made headway in the time I've been. . .abducted."

He didn't blush, but his eyes darted away. No shame, then, just a slight unease. He wasn't happy he'd abducted her? Or all too happy, maybe.

"Phone, Castle."

He slid his one out of his pocket, touched in his passcode, and handed it over. "No funny business."

She snorted, dialed Esposito's phone. "Are you serious? This coming from you?"

He narrowed his eyes at her and gone was that charming, adorable man. In its place was the calculated agent, the man who'd created an elaborate ruse to put her entirely at a disadvantage, perhaps even to scare-

Esposito answered.

"Javi, it's Beckett."

"Yo, where _are_ you? You never checked in at the 12th."

She lifted her eyes to Castle, saw the intensity in his eyes. "Tell you later. Get anything from the lab before you guys left for the night?"

"Lanie sent over the test results just as I left. Sodium pentothal in her system."

"Truth serum?" Beckett huffed. "Are you serious? This case-"

"Yeah. This case. Man. Ryan's going nuts too."

"Jeez, Ryan. There are no aliens. Anything else, Espo?"

"Not so far. Hey, where are you calling from? Said the number's blocked."

"My phone bit the dust. When I get a new one, I'll let you know."

She ended the call before Esposito could ask more and handed the phone back to Agent Castle. He was smirking at her.

"It's yours."

"I can't take your-"

"Not mine," he shrugged. "We're also overhauling that POS car of yours. We broke it; we buy it, Beckett."

"I doubt that's CIA policy," she murmured, glancing down at the iphone in her hand.

"Code's the first four of your badge number," he added. "To unlock it. Already synched it to your account, but I left the number block in place. Security measure-"

"I don't need you-"

He shrugged elaborately at her, raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. "Once we're through here, you do what you want. But for now, the - let's call them added features? - the added features remain. On the phone, and on your car, Beckett."

"On my _car_?" she hissed, narrowing her eyes at him. "More tracking devices? Is it rigged so that you can listen in at your leisure?"

"Yes. Pretty much. Also installed a panic button on your phone."

"A panic button."

"It's necessary - you might need backup. Hey, look, see?" He pulled out his own phone from a back pocket, called up the main screen to show it to her. "I got one too. It's just a good idea. Another agent - it was her thing. Comes in handy."

Her thing. "Your girlfriend's panic button aside, I don't want your fingers all over my case, all over my _stuff, _Castle."

"She's not my girlfriend," he insisted sharply.

Beckett raised an eyebrow, surprised that had found a mark.

He huffed and twisted away; she saw his fist clench around his phone before he shoved it back in his pocket. "The car, the phone - it's just so I can keep track of you."

"Exactly," she said, stepping around the table to get in his space, make him see her. "I don't want you to be able to keep track of me."

His eyes lifted to meet hers, something desolate in them that nearly made her flinch. "It's just for back-up, Kate. In case something happens and you need help."

"I won't need help," she answered carefully, alarmed by how soft her voice was, how her body canted into his without her say. "I work alone."

"Not on this one."


	3. Chapter 3

**Close Encounters**

* * *

_"I won't need help," she answered carefully, alarmed by how soft her voice was, how her body canted into his without her say. "I work alone."_

_"Not on this one."_

* * *

She was irritated, but he didn't care.

Castle led her out of the underground maze, hesitated when he got to the elevator. "I have to - ah, well. . ." He held out the black cloth hood.

She lifted one beautiful eyebrow and didn't take it.

"This is a secure location. You can't-"

"You have my car. You hijacked my phone. I am not putting a bag over my head." The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside.

He slid the injector out of his pocket and showed it to her, following her on. "Then it's this. And I carry you out of here."

She called his bluff. "Then carry me."

Castle stared her down, but it hadn't been a bluff; he'd have to knock her unconscious. He sighed and flipped the safety off the needle, grabbed her by the arm.

She startled, obviously not expecting him to be serious, but he hauled her in close. When she succumbed, he didn't want her head to hit the floor.

Beckett stared at him, gripped his bicep to resist. But he was stronger than her, a good four inches taller, and he had to.

He had to.

It was a secure location.

"Don't fight me. It will only bruise." He pressed the injector to the smooth, creamy skin at her neck, felt the flinch that rippled through her body. The delivery was quick, a sharp jab that burned - he knew from experience - and then her knees were turning to water, her body suddenly heavy against his chest.

He dropped the injector to the floor of the elevator, wrapped both arms around her, tried to apologize with just the look in his eyes. Already she'd be too dizzy to tolerate the sound of a voice, too sick to fight the drag of the earth. Beckett's nails gripped him suddenly harder, a paroxysm of last-ditch fight, but she was sinking. When her eyes rolled back, Castle slowly eased her down.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "You should've agreed to the blindfold."

* * *

With the injector in his pocket, Castle scooped an arm under her knees, the other just at her shoulder blades, and levered them both upright. The elevator doors opened onto the garage and Eastman laughed as he saw them approach.

"I thought she looked too fiesty for the hood."

"She actually thought I wouldn't do it," Castle answered, gave the man a falsely cheerful smile. His guts were rolling.

"Her car's back there. You want to take it, or should I?"

"I've got it. I'm going to hang around - see if they get anywhere on the murder investigation. Would you believe she's got me half-convinced Subbarao didn't know a thing about the spying?"

Eastman scoffed, hands on his hips. "Sure you are. You're always looking for a better angle."

"That's me. Still, you never know. I'll call in when I find something, Eastman." Castle shifted the detective in his arms and headed for the back of the garage, found her car waiting just as Eastman had said.

He glanced down at the unconscious woman in his arms, his chest tightening at the smooth peace of her face, the way her cheek pressed against his shoulder, the curl of her fingers at his tie.

Castle took a deep breath, inhaling that exotic fragrance he'd come to associate with her now, and ducked to reach for the handle of the passenger side door.

He'd assist in her murder investigation. That was all.

He knew better - now - than to get involved with women who were all about the job.

* * *

Castle parked the car near her apartment, as close as he could get it, and debated whether or not he should just sit here with her until she roused, or if he should bring her upstairs to her place.

She might truly freak out if she knew he had a key to her apartment. She might demand it back, and this new, strange sense of honor might require he actually relinquish it.

No, no, best they just sit here.

He turned off the car and released his seat belt, then leaned over and did the same for her. Beckett's head was nestled against the back of the seat, which he'd lowered to keep her from pitching forward, and her body was so slight, thin-looking. Like she could slip between his fingers.

Castle reached out and stroked the hair back from her face, took in the sharp lines of her cheekbones, the curved ridge of her eyebrows, the full lips. She was beautiful; she was passionate. He'd watched how she carried herself - such grace, surety of movement - how her team was quick to follow her orders, respectful, but they still laughed together, had a brotherhood that was undeniable.

Loyalty.

It'd been a long time since he could look at his fellow agents and know, without fail, without doubt, that they had his back. Partly because everyone walked on eggshells around him due to his father, partly because of the stain of Sophia Turner, but mostly because the job - at this level - just didn't engender trust, didn't foster that kind of closeness.

No one knew him. It was dangerous to know.

Castle didn't even know for himself who he was. A kid dumped at boarding school by his flighty mother, taken in by a mysterious father who groomed him for elite and covert ops from a young age, training at Langley when he was eightteen.

No time to stop and wonder, no chance to be a different man; he was good at this, he got results, but-

Kate stirred, her fingers flexing against the seat. Castle realized he'd been carding his fingers through her hair this whole time, and he drew away, sucking in a shaky breath.

She seriously got to him. Even _asleep_, she got to him.

Her eyes opened all of a sudden and she was gripping the door handle, the edge of her seat, a foot hitting her radio as she flailed.

"Hey, hey," he said soothingly. "You're okay. Just me. I drove you home."

Her white-knuckled grip eased as she came back to awareness, and then her body shifted in the seat, dialed down the tension. He watched her lean forward, head buried in her hands, and tried not to want her.

And failed.

Castle reached out and put his palm at her back, rubbed slow circles as she gulped her breaths.

"The sedative will make you fee like shit for the next few hours. Because of the back to back dosing."

"You drugged me," she grit out.

"You wouldn't wear the hood over your head."

"You _drugged_ me."

"And then I carried you to your car, strapped you in, and drove you home myself."

"Maybe it was one of you spy guys who killed her. Any missing sodium pentathol around your Batcave?"

"It wasn't anyone on my side," he said quietly, his hand still at her back. She was so warm; he could feel every ridge of her spine under his palm. "You said you found Chinese cigarettes at the crime scene."

She grunted in reluctant agreement, kept her head nearly to her knees, taking deeper breaths now. He stroked his hand up until he could bury his fingers in her hair, press in against the muscles at her neck and ease the tension.

She shivered and pressed a hand over her mouth.

"Let me walk you up," he said quietly.

"No."

"We need to work this case together, Beckett. I'll walk you up, you get some sleep, I'll be back here when-"

"I'm not getting some sleep. You're not working this case with me. I-"

"We are. You said yourself I should help you find her murderer. Not usually my thing, but I can be of service."

She turned her head to look at him, her hair tumbling down over her shoulder, her eyes still a little hazy, but unrelenting.

He waited, took it, until she slowly closed her eyes again. "Fine. You can come up. I'll fill you in on everything."

Castle quickly got out of the car and came around her side, offered his arm for her to lean against - which she ignored.

He didn't tell her he was already filled in; he'd _been_ filled in.

He wanted to hear what she had to say.

* * *

Kate Beckett couldn't keep the world from swimming.

She swallowed hard and felt her stomach lurch as she climbed her stairs, the special agent at her back. She could feel his hard-edges, his barely-restrained eagerness. She knew there was something between them, something crackling and alive and dangerous, but she shouldn't - couldn't - it wouldn't happen.

Didn't mean it wasn't fun to think about.

When she dislodged her keys from the collection of stuff in her jacket pocket, Castle was at her shoulder, a warm wall that kept her upright. Her hands refused to work together though, and she jabbed the key at the door knob, growing frustrated with her rippling vision.

Castle didn't say anything, just took the key from her and neatly inserted it into the lock.

She growled at him as he held the door open, and he had the balls to smile at her.

"My fault you're disoriented. Least I can do."

"It is your fault. You drugged me. Twice."

He shrugged at her and came in after her, shut her front door and locked it. He handed her the keys and his hands drifted to her hips, nudging her back towards the living room as if he belonged there. As if it was his right.

His confidence was arrogant, annoying, but part of her. . .

A man like this - strong, determined, a little goofy at times, noticeably interested, undeterred by her icy demeanor, all his focus on her - she responded to it.

They were a good match. Flint and spark. They'd make heat.

"How's your head?" he said then. He was pushing her towards her couch, but she pushed back, escaped from his hands and moved to the kitchen.

"I need some water. Funny taste in my mouth."

"Yeah, knock back a few tylenol too. If you've got any. It helps."

She wanted to ignore him, but her head was throbbing with every pulse of her heart. She opened her medicine cabinet and searched through the pills. "I got advil. I'll-"

"No," he said, coming up behind her and taking the bottle out of her fingers. "Believe me. Not with the nausea. Something gentle. Tylenol."

She watched him root through her cabinet, delicate and deft in his touch, and she realized after too long a moment that his other hand was at her waist, warm and heavy.

He felt good; it felt good to have a man in her kitchen trying and failing to run her life (but still trying), his presence so persistent and natural at her side. He found what he was looking for, shook the bottle to make certain there were pills inside, then handed it over to her. Castle stepped away from her and opened another cabinet, pulled down a glass, then took a filtered water pitcher from her fridge.

He poured her a glass of water and handed it over; she took it and tried to figure out what was wrong, what niggled at the back of her-

"You know where everything is," she said slowly, running her tongue over the roof of her mouth, tasting the sedative still. "You _know_ where _everything_ is."

He didn't even blush, just watched her like she might do something crazy.

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, tylenol in her hand and pills beginning to get damp with the sweat of her palm.

"Kate. Take the meds. You'll feel better."

"Have you been in here before or just. . .peeping in my windows, Castle?"

He was silent and she finally lifted her eyes to him.

He wouldn't tell her.

She growled and popped the pills to the back of her mouth, gulped down water until she felt like choking.

Damn him.

"I won't apologize. It's my job. And I enjoyed it."

"Well then," she grunted. "Apologize for enjoying it, if nothing else, you arrogant son of a bitch."

She winced as her words rung in her head, squeezed her eyes shut to rub circles at her temples. Suddenly she felt the heat of him at her front, his palms broad and wide on her shoulders, his body so close that she didn't even have to lean in to breathe his scent.

"I'm sorry for enjoying it," he whispered. "I'm sorry for wanting to know everything about you - why you dress so severe but your apartment is so bohemian, why you close all of your blinds so tightly the moment you get home but leave a little crack for the plant in your bedroom window, why you spend three hours doing pilates on Friday night when you're one of the most gorgeous women I've ever seen-"

She groaned and backed away from him, pushing off his chest to get her distance. "You can't - can't do that. I can't."

"Why can't you?" he asked, but he said it like he already knew the answer.

She closed her eyes and turned around, her pulse thick and pulsing in her temples, making her hands feel clumsy. She moved to the living room and sank into her armchair gratefully. "The case. The murder. We'll get you your information and Marie's killer and then. . ."

He came around from behind, sat carefully on her coffee table in front of her. "And then?"

She hadn't meant it like that but the arch of his eyebrow and the intense darkness in the center of his blue eyes made her lips tingle.

And so she jumped in.

"And then we'll see," she said quietly.

* * *

She filled the room.

As he paced in front of her windows, prowling from the kitchen to where she sat in the armchair, Beckett went over her case notes with a casual dominance that made him restless.

Of course, it was her own apartment, home field advantage, but he was impressed by how she commanded the space, his attention, how it seemed like everything around her was set decoration for the stage of her life.

Castle was used to being the one in charge, the one deferred to because of his rank or his father's influence in the Agency, but with Kate-

With Kate, he struggled to assert himself. He had to work harder to impress her, had to live up to an entirely different set of expectations, had to keep reminding her of his presence. She ignored him easily, his overtures and his touch and his demands; she went over the case line by line, fact by fact, and not once did he unsettle her.

She owned him.

Of course, hadn't he known it the moment he uncuffed her in his interrogation room?

He shook his head at himself, memorizing the placement of the cars parked on her street, and moved swiftly to her couch. But he still didn't sit down. "Well, if it's not Marie Subbarao, then who is it, Kate?"

She lifted her eyes from her phone where she'd been reading off from her notes. "Has to be someone else with access to that telescope."

"Someone at the science center," he said slowly. "Who has access to tasking the telescope?"

She shook her head. "I don't know, but I'd bet her boss. Co-workers. We'll check it out in the morning when they open."

He nodded, shifted back to the windows. He slipped his fingers between the wooden slats of her blinds and noted the cars on the street.

Same black SUV.

"What are your neighbors like?" he asked, turning back to her.

She was rubbing her temples, her head bowed.

"Beckett?" He glanced once more to the street, but seeing through those tinted windows was impossible. He shifted towards the detective sitting in the armchair and snagged her hands, drew them away from her head. "Still have a headache?"

"Mm," she murmured. "Thanks to you."

"I've been accused of worse," he said quietly, lifting a hand to brush through her hair. He let his thumb skim her temple, held his breath at the way her head leaned into him automatically.

"You drugged me. Twice," she growled suddenly, her eyes flaring open.

He couldn't help the twitch of his lips, sank down on her coffee table to study her. "I did. You're not going to let that go, are you?"

"You drugged me."

"I asked nicely, but you refused to wear the hood. It's a nice hood."

She narrowed her eyes at him and pulled her feet up into the seat, twisting to lean her head back on the arm of the chair.

He watched her, privileged to see the way she unwound, shedding layers as she went. Her eyes were closed, her chest rising and falling slowly. She seemed to have forgotten he was there.

Castle sat very still so that she wouldn't remember him, studied the lines of her face as she relaxed, the sharp jut of her knee, the way her fingers stroked rhythmically up and down her thigh, self-soothing.

Black SUV.

He sighed and stood back up, startling her he could tell, and moved to the window once more.

"You should go," she said sleepily. "Tomorrow. The Science Center. I can meet you-"

"I'm not leaving," he said.

She sat up, frowning at him. "Castle. Seriously. This-"

"I can't leave," he interrupted. "Not now. For my safety and yours."

"You kidnapped _me_. Now you-"

"It's not that," he said softly, then turned back to the window. "You have visitors."


	4. Chapter 4

**Close Encounters**

* * *

All the lights were off in her apartment. She could hear him breathing beside her as they sat on the floor of her bedroom, watching the street through the three inches at the base of her blinds that - as he'd said - she left up for the plant.

The black SUV hadn't moved, but Castle had drawn his weapon and kept it on the floor beside him, a hand resting over the grip. His paranoia had infected her easily; she kept her gun by her knee and her eyes kept flicking to the vehicle on her street.

A wave of weariness punched through her; she sagged against the wall and closed her eyes.

"You should go to bed," he murmured. "I'm up."

She struggled to right herself, opened her eyes. "No." Not with him sitting a foot away in the darkness.

"If you can sleep off the drugs, it helps."

Beckett studied the black beast hulking on her street. "If they're here - if that's not more of your crazy goons - if it's the Chinese-"

"Then they don't have the information either," he said, nodding once to her.

She chewed on her lip and pulled her gaze back down to the street, away from those blue eyes that managed to shine even in the darkness.

"They think I have it," she said quietly.

"Yeah."

There was genuine regret in his voice and she turned her head sharply back to him.

"I wish you weren't involved."

She laughed, a surprised thing that got pulled right out of her. "Where - what else would I be doing? This is my job, Castle. At least now there's you."

She froze as the words left her mouth, her heart hammering in her chest. Castle lifted his hand from his weapon and laid his palm heavily against her thigh, his fingers curling behind her knee.

"I'm here," he said finally, his voice roughened in the darkness. "You should try to get some sleep."

"What about you?" she murmured.

"You inviting me to sleep with you?" he said, his mouth curving into a smile that made her breath catch.

She said nothing for such a long time that his fingers clutched hard at the hinge of her knee, his eyes growing serious.

"I have a couch," she said finally.

He shook his head. "It's in your living room, cut off from line of sight. I'll stay here-"

"You'll be exhausted. You look like you haven't slept in a couple days either."

He tilted his head, a smile flirting with the edges of his lips again. "Well, thanks. I look that rough?"

When, again, she couldn't find the words to smoothly extricate herself from that, he only laughed softly, his thumb stroking up over her kneecap.

"Don't worry. I've got it."

"We'll do it in shifts," she said suddenly. "Give me four hours to sleep off the drugs, and then I'll take over."

He was already shaking his head, but she rose to her knees, caught his hand before it fell away from her leg.

"Four hours. Then I take over."

Castle was staring at her, the dark night like a warm blanket around them, drawing them inevitably closer. Her body swayed towards his, drawn by the hint of a smile at his mouth, the shadow of scruff at his jaw, the broad chest underneath his suit jacket.

He was CIA; it couldn't last. It was nothing more than dangerous, thrilling attraction, and nothing good would ever come of it.

Maybe that was why she wanted him so much. He was safe; they'd do this one case and he'd be gone again, out of her life, back to the neat, orderly way she liked things.

So what could it hurt?

Just one night.

Beckett squeezed his fingers and slid her hand slowly up the outside of his forearm to his elbow, curling there, her thumb at the crook to feel the pound of his pulse.

"Kate," he breathed.

She was going to kiss him.

And then-

* * *

She was kissing him.

_She_ was kissing _him_.

That almost never happened.

Castle was the aggressor; he was the alpha male. He took-

Oh wow, her mouth was so hot. So soft.

Her fingers were at his shoulder for balance, points of contact, and he wanted her closer, pressed against him, so he slid his arm around her waist and tumbled her off-balanced and into his lap. She gasped into his mouth and the break in her kiss left him just enough room to dart his tongue inside that wet, heated cavern.

She tasted rich.

Castle slid a palm behind her thigh and pulled her leg over his lap; she straddled him, sinking down slowly, her mouth ceaseless, her tongue stroking hard over his and demanding more.

He let her have it, shifting his hand to her back, rucking up her shirt so he could feel the warm softness of her skin, feather his fingertips along her ribs so that she arched hard into him, a moan caught between her teeth. Her neck was shadowed in the moonless night; he licked the underside of her jaw and nibbled at her earlobe, hummed into the press of her throat, the taut skin vibrating.

"Castle," she groaned, a gasp following as he brushed the back of his fingers against her stomach. "You feel so good. So good and I don't - I don't even know your real name."

He stopped, panting harshly into her open, laughing mouth, felt the clutch of her hands at his shoulders, the grip of her knees against his waist. Her forehead dropped to his, their breaths mingling, hot, wanting, but suddenly her palm was at his neck, cradling him, her fingers stroking through the hair at his nape.

He took in a long shaky breath, his own hands settling at her hips, his thumbs alone allowed to touch the warm skin of her waist.

"I don't even know my own name," he murmured finally, regret washing through him so sharply that his chest clenched.

Her thumb was swiping along his cheekbone; her mouth pressed into the corner of his for a kiss. "What does that mean?"

"I know my mother's name, but she took off once I was school age," he started, felt the words dragged up from a darkness he didn't like to ever look at. And here was Kate Beckett, unleashing it all with one breathless question.

"You don't have to tell me," she murmured, but her hands were still soothing along his body, cheek, chin, neck, his chest. She squeezed his shoulder and slid her palm down to his, their fingers lacing. "I don't need to know."

He was so damn tired of need-to-know.

"You can know," he ground out, felt the clutch of her hand against his. "My father is a spy, has been my whole life. He came for me when my mother disappeared, paid for boarding schools, training, everything. He did what he could - and this is the life he knew, so now it's what I know too. I don't know his real name; he calls himself Black. And I refused to keep my mother's name. I made mine up when I was ten years old and I had it legally changed the day I turned eighteen."

She didn't say anything, and he was glad. He'd never told a soul about it, never needed to, never wanted to. It was the past and the past was over.

Suddenly she was laughing, a dry chuckle that hummed against his skin and made his hand clench around hers.

"You - oh, that ten year old little special agent decided on Castle. Is that it - just Castle? Or did you give yourself a first name?"

He growled, but her easy amusement, the heat of her in his lap, against his chest, it somehow loosened the fist in his guts, made it suddenly okay for him to see the humor in it as well.

"It's possible that. . .no. I didn't give myself a first name. It was supposed to be bad-ass."

"Like Madonna?" she laughed, and her other hand was playing at the buttons of his shirt.

"You're a tease."

"Mm, just enjoying myself for once. So. Castle. You keep your first name? Or do I just call you Fortress all day?"

"You really are something else," he huffed, but darted in for a kiss.

She hummed into his mouth and he could still taste the laughter against her tongue. She shook off his hand to press her palms against his back, drawing them together again. He broke from her with a nip at her bottom lip, stroked his hand into her hair so he could pull her away enough to see her warm, expressive eyes.

"It's Richard," he murmured, barely loud enough. "And I should get back to my job. We're not safe."

But she'd heard; her body tensed and then went pliant and warm against his.

"Richard," she breathed out, her hands stroking over his shoulders, up his sides, across his pecs, and then trailing down his stomach. "_Rick_, give me four hours to sleep off your drugs, and then we'll see about pressing your panic button."

And just like that, he laughed, grinning wide at her clever, hot body in the darkness.

"That's better," she murmured, and left him with one last kiss.

* * *

She'd fallen asleep the moment she slid into bed, all of her clothes still on and her gun at her bedside table. She didn't think the Chinese would rush the apartment - it was the only reason she'd let herself relax - but she hadn't thought it was a good idea to jump into bed with Agent Castle either.

_Rick_.

She woke immediately in the darkness, oriented by the shadow at her window and the green glow of numbers on her alarm clock. Three hours. Good enough.

Still she stayed where she was, on her side watching him, her silent sentinel. He'd pulled his suit jacket off and tossed it over a chair in her room, rolled his sleeves up. His shoulder holster only emphasized the broad length of his torso. His tie was gone as well, and she'd half-unknotted it herself when they'd kissed on her floor, but the open buttons were new.

Just two, but the gleam of skin was impossible to miss. She wanted to put her mouth there.

What was it about him? The attraction was intense, but the softness, the chinks in his armor were irresistible.

She felt like she owed him something.

"My mom was murdered when I was nineteen," she said. His head swiveled in the darkness and even though she couldn't see his eyes, she felt his gaze on her. Intent, whole-hearted.

He shifted and came over to sit against the bed, his hand on the mattress near her knees. When she only just watched him, the words stuck somewhere in her throat, he did his little move and slid his fingers between her knees, curled them at the back, a grip on her thigh and her calf at the same time.

It was beginning to be his _thing_. And that he had a thing with her at all made her feel powerful. She'd reduced him to needy touch and the possessive grip of his fingers.

"They never caught the guy," she said suddenly, felt the usual closing up of her throat and battled through it. "They said it was a mugging, but-"

"It wasn't," he said quietly.

A rush of goosebumps flared up her skin at the tone in his voice, the certainty. It'd been so very long since someone believed her, didn't dismiss her as grief-stricken and obsessive.

"It wasn't."

"You have anything on it?" he said. "I know you well enough - you're working her case."

"I got nothing," she bit out, closed her eyes to it.

"I can help."

She startled and lifted her head, stared at him. "What?"

"I have resources you don't. Databases you'd never dream of. Also, I might have already. . ."

"What." She felt the dread rise in her like a helium balloon dragging up a barbell. Impossible, shouldn't be happening, but as it went, it knocked her around, made her dizzy.

"I already started."

"You what?" She drew back, tried to escape the clutch of his fingers at her knee, the dark knowledge in his eyes. "You started _what_?"

"I did my homework on you, Kate. I know about your mom. I put the elements of her murder into a database, tasked a couple guys on my team-"

"You can't do that," she harshed, jerking away from him, scrambling to sit up in the bed. "You can't take my mother's case and-"

"And what? Give you actual leads? Help you finally _get_ somewhere?"

"It's my mother's case," she rasped, getting out of bed on the other side, leaving the whole length of the mattress between them. "It's _my_ mother's case. You don't get to poke around in it."

"You're right. I don't, actually. The scope of my job is severely limited on US soil. So doing it at all involves some risk of censure, but I thought you'd want to know. I thought you'd care about the truth more than squabbling with me over jurisdictional bullshit."

She squeezed her hands into fists and walked away, slammed the bathroom door shut on him.

* * *

He was waiting for her when she came back out, grabbed her by the harsh angle of her elbow.

"The moment I get anything on the medical examiner's report, I will let you know, Kate."

She was rigid with anger.

"I promise. And it might be nothing. It might be nothing at all, but I thought you deserved something in return after all of this."

She poked her finger into his chest, hard. "I do my job. You do yours. You stay away from my mother's case."

"This is ridiculous, Kate. I'll turn everything over to you, immediately. I won't even move on whatever intel I might get. It's your baby - I understand."

She shoved him. He didn't expect it, but he was trained. He caught her wrists and jerked her into the momentum of her push. They both fell back against the mattress with Kate on top of him.

She was growling and struggling to get up. "You don't understand anything. For a man who's been following me for four days, knows where everything is in my kitchen, you sure as hell don't know anything at all about me."

Shit, that stung. He released her wrists and wanted to distance himself, wanted to push her off of him and stand up, walk out her door with nothing more than a shake of his head.

But he couldn't. Couldn't do any of that. He could only stare up at the rapid blink of her lashes, the diamond gleam in her eyes, feel the tension as it pounded hard in her body.

"It's not just a case," she whispered. "It's the darkest hole of my life and I fall right down in it every damn time. It swallows me up, Castle, and I can't do it again. I can't. I want - my mother deserves - but I can't do it. I've let her down."

Her forehead dropped to his chest, her shoulders hunched up around her ears, and he couldn't help but press a kiss to her hair, draw his hand up her back. They were half on the bed and half off, so he drew his legs up and pulled them into the center of the bed, cradling her still-stiff body against his.

"Nothing wrong with knowing your limits," he whispered, stroking the hair back from her face. She wasn't crying, wasn't hiding. She seemed to need a moment to draw herself back from the edge. "Nothing wrong with tactical retreat, Beckett. But now you have me, and I won't let you be eaten up with it. We'll do it together."

She shivered hard in his arms and her mouth opened at his neck, but she didn't move - off of him or towards him either way.

He had no idea what he'd done, but he'd see it through. No matter what happened between them.

* * *

She wasn't watching him sleep.

Beckett sat on the floor of her bedroom, her back against the wall so she could tilt her head and spy on the spies. The black SUV had yet to move, and Castle had agreed to a couple hours' sleep.

In her bed.

Without her.

She flexed her fingers around her weapon and took a long breath in. And then she let herself look at him.

He was flat on his back, an arm out like he was reaching for her nightstand where his gun lay. His shoes were still on, no covers over him, but his face in sleep was an entirely different thing. With his eyes closed, she could see the rest of him, all the parts of him his charm wouldn't let her get to: the scar over his eyebrow, the deep one in the dimple of his chin, the thin line at his jaw where his stubble wasn't growing in.

She clenched her hand around the ring at her neck, pressed it to her lips, but she still studied the man in her bed.

The sharp peak of his nose was distinguished, perfect, and it met his mouth with a slash of determination that made him look both polished and brutal at the same time. She'd never met a man with such contradictions, whose body housed both an amazing flair for life and a cold, efficient calculation.

His very nature was at civil war. She had no idea which side would win.

Beckett averted her eyes and swept the street once more, watched the man approaching from the east until he passed just under her window and kept on going. After long moments waiting, she was certain he wouldn't be coming back, and she let herself look once more to Castle.

His watch was the same as her own - her father's watch - and it faintly glowed from his wrist; his forearm was dusted with hair, his muscles like ropes lashed across his bone. He'd shucked his dress shirt and was wearing only a white undershirt - it gave over the form of his biceps and his broad chest, so much stronger, wider than she'd thought at first.

Freckles on his sun-kissed skin, his body in shadows in her bed but pulsing with life, light, all the things she'd never found for herself but wanted.

They had chemistry - they had knockout chemistry - she was sure it would be good between them. It'd be amazing.

But he was also a path she couldn't reconcile herself to taking, not now, not with Castle. He was a CIA agent; he disappeared for months on secret missions and had cases he'd never be able to talk about. His life was his job and she'd _done_ that before, and it was miserable when it ended.

So why did she still want, so very badly, to do it again? With him. With Rick. With the man who had cracked jokes at her when she was still glittering with anger. With the man who had bared his throat to her when he'd explained his mother's abandonment, his father's absent parenting, his own name. With the man who kissed her, and touched her, and wouldn't apologize for it in words, but had every time she'd looked in his eyes: _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's my job but I am so sorry._

But that wasn't the man who'd win out in the end. He'd do his job and he would move on to the next one.

So she couldn't fall for Castle. She wouldn't.

The sex would be great, if she could only keep her heart out of it.

* * *

He woke.

She was over him, a fist in the mattress near his head.

"Castle."

"What is it?" he said back, already reaching past her for his gun.

"Someone came. Driver's side window."

He was on the move before she could finish, drawing his body together and slipping under her and off the bed, weapon in hand as he hustled to the window.

"Not there now," she added, a hand at his back. "I took a picture with my new phone-"

The way she said it made him turn and flash her a grin and she grinned back, a thrilling and beautiful thing, before she continued.

"-it's crap quality though. No light, it's too far away." She was unlocking her phone and calling up the photo stream. He waited, turned his eyes back to the SUV below, and then took a quick glance of the picture she held out to him.

"That's Jeffrey Zhao. Chinese consulate. Shit." He growled and glanced back down at the street. "I think we should leave. Marie had whatever it was she had, and now they think you've got it."

"But I don't have it. They-"

"Well, are we even sure that Marie had it herself?" He felt her grow still beside him and he turned his head to look at her. "We don't know she had the information either, Kate. But they killed her for it."

"Let's get out of here," she shivered. "We'll go to the precinct-"

"No. We'll go to a safe house. Grab some stuff. We're sneaking out the back."

She stared at him a moment and then a noise from the street had them both looking back. The doors were opening and armed men were slipping out, quiet, controlled.

"Uh-oh," he breathed. "Not good. Beckett - go, go, go."

She was already going.


	5. Chapter 5

**Close Encounters**

* * *

They took the stairs and went up, Castle dragging his holster on over his undershirt. Castle's jacket, dress shirt, and tie were shoved into a backpack along with some of her essentials (he'd been perversely proud that Kate Beckett's essentials included four spare clips, an extra weapon, one shirt, some cash, and a stick of deodorant - woman after his own heart).

The backpack was snug against his spine as they exited onto the roof; they jogged quietly towards the south side at the front of the building and he leaned over to check. They'd left no one out there, apparently expecting Beckett and himself to be asleep. The SUV was just out of sight at the west side of the building, and the armed men had already gotten inside.

"The fire escape," she commanded, nudging him to go first. Fine with him; he wanted a clear line of sight if the shooting started.

Castle went down hand over hand, careful to keep his gun from clanging against the ladder, skipping two or three rungs as he dropped, felt the heel of her boot snag his fingers once or twice. He was fine with that too, so long as she did it noiselessly.

He hit the first landing and moved cautiously through the metal balcony to the next ladder, started the process all over again. There was a rhythm to it that he found soothing, and soon he was moving past the second story fire escape and down.

"It's a drop," she said suddenly. "Careful."

He glanced past his shoes and saw that the bottom of the metal ladder ended abruptly about eight feet from the ground.

"I'll drop and roll. Then catch you."

"Like hell you will."

But he was already holstering his weapon and monkeying down. He clung to the last rung with only his fingertips before he dropped to the sidewalk below. His knees bent and absorbed the shock as he kept moving, allowing the kinetic energy to disperse over his body.

He hopped back up to his feet and felt only a slight twinge in his left ankle, not bad at all. Beckett was just starting to dangle at the end, but he reached up and grabbed her by the hips, his face against her stomach as she let go.

She was lithe and rippling with tension, her muscles taut under his hands, his mouth. He felt her sink into him, the nudge of her knees into his thighs, his grip on her hard, certain. She slid slowly down his body, warm and shivering just the same, and he couldn't resist keeping her close enough to feel that delicious friction against his chest.

She stood panting, flushed from the climb, her hair mussed around her face. He ached to do something about it, so he darted forward and captured her mouth in a quick, hot kiss before he stepped away.

"Let's get out of here," she grit out, shaking her head at him as she turned.

He snagged her by the elbow, and she shot him a deadly glare over her shoulder.

It only made him grin.

"Wrong way, Beckett."

* * *

She kept quiet, responded to his directions with wordless grunts, followed his lead. They holstered their weapons after a couple of blocks, not wanting to draw attention in the early morning hours, the city already struggling awake.

When they got to the subway, he took her hand in his and didn't let go of it, making his way through the two a.m. partiers returning home. They took the red line, number two, stepping onto the subway car in silence, Castle nudging her towards the back.

The car smelled of wet dog, but she only wrinkled her nose and sat in an aisle seat. Castle stood over her a moment, slipping the backpack off his shoulders, then sighed loudly and gestured her up. He wanted the aisle seat himself, she realized, for its tactical advantage, so she gave up and slid over, let him have it.

He was grinning at her, eyes crinkled up, and she reached out and tugged his ear for it. Castle huffed but he was still smiling, and his hand landed on her knee with a squeeze.

"So where's this place?" she said. Number two on the red line meant Harlem.

He lifted an eyebrow, glanced exaggeratedly to the map just behind her head.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"We're end of the line," he murmured with that same, crafty smile. He looked like a different person when he smiled; he looked younger and older at the same time, a man without the weight of the world, just a regular guy with a family and bills to pay and a normal job.

A man she wanted.

She glanced back at the map to check; end of the line was 148th Street. "And from there?"

"I'll show you. Against policy, doing it like this. So. You'll just have to trust me."

He wanted to preserve the anonymity of his safe house; she got it. "Just don't drug me, and we'll be fine."

He laughed and his shoulder brushed hers, stayed, warm and heavy.

"Won't drug you. Unless I have to."

She jerked and reached over to shove him, but he caught her hand, lightning-fast, and brought her palm to his mouth, pressed a kiss there.

Soft. Sweet. Not at all the man who'd dropped down the side of her building from her fire escape with his weapon in hand.

She curled her fingers at his mouth and let herself brush her thumb over his lips.

Rick Castle was a strange, interesting man.

Rick Castle was a CIA agent.

She was already doomed.

* * *

He was stroking his fingers through her hair, his hand curled at her neck as they rode the line to the end. People got on and off, but no one seemed to care that a man in his undershirt with the brown leather straps of his holster showing was sitting beside a woman still in her grey mock-turtleneck, black pants, and boots. She'd taken her jacket with her but it was stuffed into her backpack at their feet.

"What are you doing?" she said finally.

He half-shrugged, her hair falling over his fingers as he carded his hand through the straight ends. "It's soft."

"What is up with you?" she snorted, tilting her head away from him.

"What?"

"Castle," she growled, lowering her voice and leaning in closer. "We are on the run from the Chinese, headed to a CIA safe house, and you're sitting there. . .mooning over my hair. What the hell?"

He grinned. "What can I say? You do things to me."

"You don't even know me. And I don't know you."

He dropped his hand to the back of the seat, blinked as he looked at her, and then slowly slid his eyes away. She felt her stomach churn and reached back to snag his fingers, squeezing even though she didn't know why.

"Kinda just an average day in my job," he said then. "Safe houses, Chinese agents, and-"

"And women?" she said. "I bet they fall at your feet, Castle."

He let out a breath. "Well. I won't say they don't."

She cocked an eyebrow at him and he shrugged.

"It's the job. I haven't had a real relationship since college. Everything is. . .strategic."

"Shit, that sucks," she muttered, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"It does," he laughed, shaking his head. "It really sucks. But. . .nothing to be done."

"So what's all of this, Castle? Strategic for you? You get an asset in the NYPD and-"

"No. Yes, but no." He was staring at her intently, like the force of will in his eyes alone could make her understand. "It may have started out that way, but. . ."

"But nothing," she said quietly. "You need an asset, I need to solve this case. We work together to solve this, and you'll get your asset."

"What about if I want more than an asset?" he said softly, and his fingers came to stroke her cheek.

She let him, wouldn't pull away. But she didn't answer him either. He should know by now how this game was played.

"What about your mother's case?" he said then. "You at least need a partner on that, Kate."

She dropped her eyes to her tangled hands, swallowed down the rise of panic that started in her guts whenever she thought about opening the file again, staring down at her mother's body in the alley.

"If it's just about the case, Castle, I don't-"

"It's not. There's. . .something extraordinary about you, Kate." He was quiet when he spoke, and the certainty in his voice lent her courage.

"I'm not any good at this, and I bet you're even worse," she said then, giving him a smile to soften the blow. "You hop around the world, you seduce women in the interest of national security-"

"I don't seduce-"

"You seduced me. Or you tried-"

"I seduced you?" He was smiling again, cocky, and his fingers came up to her neck, stroked at the hair on her nape. "I seduced you. Are you mine now?"

She pushed a finger into his chest, met his eyes. "Yours, Castle? Hardly."

"Good. You should make me work for it. Wouldn't have it any other way."

She lifted an eyebrow. "That might be our problem. Everything's part of the game, this James Bond thing you slip into so easily."

He didn't seem to have an answer to that; he just curled his fingers into her hair and leaned in to touch his lips to hers.

He was warm, his mouth like satin, and she didn't want to stop him. Even if it was part of the elaborate web of secrets and lies that was his life, she found herself thinking she could find a place in it; she was strong enough, she was that good, she could find her footing in the midst of it all.

If only he never stopped touching her.

* * *

They had gotten off at 148th, but Castle backtracked them towards 135th and Saint Nicholas Park, his jacket slipped on over his shirt and hiding his holster again. Beckett had shrugged hers on as well, taking his lead, so that her hip holster was at least partially blocked from view.

When they were directly behind City College, skirting the edge of the park, Castle took her hand once more and guided them down Saint Nicholas Terrace and into the cover of trees. The sky had just begun to pearl, the light more grey than golden, and the canopy overhead crowded out the morning.

It was cool in the park, and his hand was still wrapped around hers, easy, but not terribly smart. If they needed to defend themselves, Castle would have to shake her off and then draw, since his right hand was in hers.

"Maybe we should-"

"Look, there are three public schools around here, and taking the park road is the only way to make certain no one is following us. So act cool, hold my hand, and pretend like we don't have guns strapped to our backs, okay, Beckett?"

She shut her mouth, flashing a look at him, but his words were matter of fact, not harsh, and his face was open.

She stepped in closer to him, their hips brushing, and laced their fingers together, just to see. He shot her a swift glance, surprise that was masked by the hardened set of his jaw but still flickered in his eyes.

"So your dad," she started.

His hand gripped hers, an involuntary tell that made her feel stronger.

"He's CIA too?"

A grunt of assent from Castle; the pace picked up.

"Your mother left you in a boarding school and what? Never came back?"

"Something like that."

She had a sudden flash of a five year old boy waiting with his meager belongings, hands in his pockets as he stared down the road, searching in vain for the cab that his mother should've been in. The prospect of a summer at home and time to convince her that he didn't want to go back next year. . .

Kate swallowed hard and slid her eyes to him; his face was in shadow, and not just because of the trees overhead.

"I'm sorry. At least your dad came for you."

"I think I'd have been better off if he hadn't."

Beckett sucked in a breath. "Was he. . ."

"Abusive? No. Just - he's not cut out to be a father. What was he supposed to do? He'd been keeping track of my mother and I, but I didn't know him from Adam. His lifestyle isn't conducive to that whole thing - family, kids, picket fence. He did the best he could, but obviously, Kate, I've got issues."

"Who doesn't?" she said quietly, their joined hands brushing her thigh as they walked. "Really. What kid isn't influenced by their parents? It's not like my mom _meant_ to leave me, but she did. So here I am - homicide detective, single - issues. Same for you, Castle. It's what you do now that matters."

"I could help you with those issues," he said, and his voice had slipped back into charming and almost smarmy, that too-cool secret agent.

"Oh yeah?" she muttered, shaking her head.

"Sex is very therapeutic."

She laughed, tilted her head as she looked at him. He was grinning again, and the moment was gone, but she liked that too. Liked his open appreciation, his want all out there on the surface.

"Been there, done that," she said, shrugging at him.

He gaped at her, and then his eyes hardened with resolve. "Haven't done me."

She smirked, had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from smiling outright. "True. Haven't done you."

"So you never know. I might just be the thing that cures what ails you."

* * *

"This isn't a safe house," she said the moment he opened the door.

Castle glanced around the apartment, tried to see it like she did, shrugged as he closed the door behind them.

"Castle. This is your place, isn't it?" She had her hands on her hips, that straight, dark hair falling just past her shoulders, perfectly groomed despite their night-time flight.

He gestured her inside but she wouldn't take another step.

"Fine. It's my place. Now-"

"Is this safe?"

"Better than Fort Knox."

She had crossed her arms over her chest, was regarding him thoughtfully. "This can't be safe for _you_." She shook her head. "Castle. How many rules are you breaking by bringing me here?"

"Plenty. Let's not talk about the rules. Rules are boring, Kate."

She scoffed at him, but when he stepped forward and slid his fingers over her waist, she swayed into him, as if entirely without her permission.

"Castle. You bring a lot of women-"

"Just you." And it was the truth. His place in Harlem was entirely off the grid; not even his father knew about it. It was sparse, yes, but sometimes he needed a space where he was truly alone, where no one could find him, no one at all. Not even Sofia had been here.

"Just me? Why would you do that?"

He didn't have an answer for her. He just liked the feel of her hair against his fingers and the seam of her mouth under his. He liked watching her sleep as he stood inside the room, no longer staring through the window at all he couldn't have.

He could have her; she was in the palm of his hand.

"No," she said softly, and her palm was at his chest even as he leaned in. "We should sleep. We need to be at the Science Center in the morning. And who knows what happens tomorrow."

She was right; of course she was. Didn't stop him from slipping his fingers under her shirt and stroking the warm skin at her back, didn't keep down the surge of want that burned through his blood, bright and clear.

But she was steadfastly holding herself away from him. Even with his hands at her back, she was resisting.

So he swallowed it down and nodded. "Let me set the alarm and the perimeter defenses. And then we both can sleep."

* * *

He was on the floor beside his bed, sleeping or not, Beckett had no idea. She was in his bed, curled on the edge, trying to keep herself from inviting him in. He had nothing in his living room but a television and a leather recliner, supple and soft, but he'd said he didn't want to sleep in the chair.

He'd made a pallet on the floor with the comforter and a blanket, handed her a tshirt to sleep in, and then made himself scarce in the kitchen while she'd changed. When she had gotten under his sheets, he'd come back through and laid down, and that was it.

Beckett watched him in the absolute black of his room, but she couldn't make out much. Just the darker blur of his form under the blanket, maybe his open mouth and the plane of a cheek. Impossible to tell his features, and here she was in his massive, king-sized bed, barely making a dent in the mattress, and he was sleeping on the floor.

She felt the disturbance of air as he moved, rolled onto his other side perhaps, and she sighed into the darkness. She was freezing in just the sheet, he had the blanket down there, and the floor couldn't be comfortable.

"Get up, Castle." When there was nothing at first, just that same quiet, she shook her head and slid her leg out from under the sheets, nudged his hip with her toe. "Get in bed. I won't bite. You'll be a gentleman. It'll be fine."

"Who said I'd be a gentleman?"

But he was already rising up, his knee was on the mattress right at her stomach so that she pitched into him. He was pushing her back, taking her side of the bed, and bringing the blanket with him.

Kate reached out and snagged the edge of it, pulled the heavy, soft material over her shoulders, and Castle came with it. She grunted in surprise, but his arm was already twining around her waist and tugging her even closer, and she was freezing, and she just-

"Don't get handsy," she muttered.

He laughed softly and dipped his head; his kiss on her cheek was cool and soft, surprising. "Too tired for handsy. Been going at this case for four days straight."

Beckett uncurled her arm from her chest and boldly slid her palm over his waist, up his back, smiling to herself at the hum that rattled in his ribcage as she did.

"Feels good," he murmured, his lips at her hair.

"Don't get any ideas either," she said. "I'm just cold and you're a convenient source of heat."

"Use me, Kate Beckett. Use me all night."

She choked on a laugh, buried her nose into his neck as she did. He was shifting, lying closer to her now, his arm still slung around her waist, his cheek pressed into the mattress by her shoulder.

She felt the moment he fell asleep. His whole body let go into hers, a release of tension that made him heavy at her side, but a warm and welcome weight.

And then she could sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Close Encounters**

* * *

When he woke, the dreary day was attempting to slink in through his blackout curtains. He winced and rolled over, came face to face with Kate Beckett.

She was gorgeous.

He blinked and felt the hard stutter of his heart, tried to breathe through it. She was curled tightly under the sheets and blanket, her shoulders up around her ears, one fist around the pillow. Her hair was at her neck, brushing into her eyes, and he couldn't stop from reaching out and taking the end of one strand, brushing it over his thumb.

So soft. And a scent that made his eyes close, his hand twisting in her hair. He slid in a little closer so he could rest near her, traced the edges of her mouth with his eyes.

And then he touched her lips with two fingers, because she was there, because he couldn't resist. Because her lips were slightly chapped and yet still so silky and he wanted to kiss her again. Kiss her awake.

He used this apartment so little because he wasn't often in New York. It was bare and depressing now that he saw it as a backdrop to this woman in his bed. Her apartment was cozy and fun and clever, a mirror to the deepest, most inviolate part of her personality. He'd rather have woken up there with her, but already, just having her in here was remaking his room, casting everything in a different light.

"The staring is creepy, Castle."

He lifted his eyes and saw hers were open, smiled at her. "Morning."

She rolled over and he missed the warmth, the sight of her, but she was just picking up her phone from the floor - he didn't even have bedside tables. Who didn't have bedside tables? She had those cute painted ones and an alarm clock, and he was practically on a mattress on the floor-

"It's five a.m.," she groaned and rolled back over into him.

He sucked in a breath, startled at her nearness, felt her burrow into him. He slid his hand to her back and eased her closer; she came.

He didn't want to, but- "We need to go to the Science Center."

"Opens at 8:30. We got time. Lemme sleep."

He was used to cycles of two hours' sleep at a time; he was awake. But she was right. For the first time in months, he had the opportunity to sleep like a normal person, wake up around seven or eight, eat breakfast, get dressed.

With her.

And of course he had no real food, no milk for cereal, but he had coffee. And he had her.

She was sprawled over his arm and shoulder, and she was already drifting back into sleep, her mouth parting as she breathed. He drew his hand up to the back of her neck, sifted his fingers through her hair until he touched warm skin.

He closed his eyes. Even if he couldn't fall back asleep, it would be wonderful to just lie here with her for a few hours more.

Like he was a normal person.

Like he could actually have her, keep her, build a real life with her.

Something he'd never had.

* * *

Agent Castle Super Spy had absolutely nothing in his bathroom. Two rolls of toilet paper, one toothbrush, a bottle of men's shampoo. That was it. No towels, no soap. Beckett showered with his shampoo, used the disposable razor she'd found under the sink, and dried off with his bedsheet.

Obviously he hadn't brought any guests here before her.

He came back into the bedroom just as she was wrapping the sheet around her breasts and he jerked to a halt, staring at her.

"You're naked," he blurted out.

She laughed. "Castle. I'm wearing a sheet. You have no towels."

"I have no. . .oh. I should - that's right. There was a minor. . .explosion last time I was here and I had to use-"

"You had an _explosion_?"

He was shuffling back towards the door, that suave and sophisticated secret agent reduced to this blushing, goofy man. She tucked her arm over her chest to keep the sheet in place, and then lifted the edge that trailed on the floor, came after him.

He backed up into the door frame, stumbled, and she watched him try to regain his balance. "Yes. An international incident that culminated in-"

"An international incident?" she scoffed, stepping closer. "You said this place was off the grid."

"If I told you, I've had to kill you. But let's just say. . .bomb in my oven."

"Oh really?" She lifted an eyebrow as she eased her body into his space. He was putting out waves of heat.

His lips twitched and he sighed. "I was making a bomb. It - uh - went off prematurely."

She hummed in amusement and laid her fingertips against his chest. "Premature. . .explosion?"

He blushed. She had actually made him blush.

"You smell like my shampoo," he said suddenly.

"All you had."

"Oh."

She felt her lips smirking upwards, tried to control it. Too late. She was already smiling and he was easing a little, smiling back, and his hand came up to her hip, the touch heavy and alluring through the thin sheet.

"You're not here all that much, are you?" she said.

"No. Not - mostly at the office."

He had an office? "That dungeon-like safe location? You telling me I gotta be drugged every time I come in to work with you, Castle?"

He laughed, his eyes crinkling up and both his hands on her waist now, pulling her into him. Like this was their morning after.

"You coming into work with me, Kate?"

She half-shrugged. "We are working this case together, are we not?"

"We are. Truth is, my office can be pretty mobile."

"So you _won't_ take me to your office, is that what you're saying?"

Suddenly she was being pressed into the vee of his legs, her hips settled against his, and he grinned down at her. She could tell he was watching her mouth, so she pushed her tongue against her teeth and felt him shiver.

"You wanna come with me to the office, I'll take you." He dipped his head close, his mouth trailing the side of her jaw until he was at her ear, breath hot and moist. "But I gotta blindfold you, Beckett. You game?"

_Yes._

* * *

At the Aubrey Science Center, they picked up another shadow. He'd expected it, but he didn't like it.

"Seven o'clock," he muttered.

She nodded and opened the door, pushed through into the lobby. "You think they'll come for us?"

"No. Not in broad daylight." But he pulled out his phone and sent a message in asking for eyes.

As they shifted through the pages of task requests, he kept checking the alerts on his phone. Nothing from his support staff, so he messaged them again about their tail, tapping his fingers on his knee.

His father could be interfering; that'd happened a few times since he'd uncovered Sofia Turner's betrayal. Castle was the one who figured it out, but now it was like his father thought he needed to be checked up on, monitored, interfered with in case things got too-

personal.

Shit. His father was going to screw him over if he kept messing with Castle's case missions.

He fired off a message to his father, frustrated, demanding support, and then felt Beckett's fingers close over his.

"Am I keeping you?" she said.

He withdrew his phone from her grip and slipped it into his pocket. "Sorry. Trying to get back-up in place just in case those Chinese want us. What've you got?"

"Marie signed every single one of these task requests to our coordinates."

He took the sheaf of papers from her, but resisted when she tried to point it out to him. "Let me look at it with fresh eyes," he said, turning away to go over the pages.

She came up at his shoulder; he could feel her heat at his back. It made it hard to focus, but he narrowed his eyes at the sheets and-

"Hey," she murmured.

He'd seen it too. "Different signatures. These are - look at the way she signed her A."

Beckett was reaching over his shoulder to grab them. "This means it's someone who has these same request forms and could sign her name instead without anyone noticing."

She was flipping through the rest of the stack now, pushing them into his chest when she didn't find what she was looking for. He grabbed them to keep the pages from falling, and she moved to another pile at the work station.

"Ha," she muttered, grabbing the first on the stack. "Look. Look at who else makes their A's like this."

He glanced down at the one she was holding out to him. "Dr. Charles Vaughn."

She narrowed her eyes at the request form. "He forged her signature to make it look as though Marie was the one intercepting the satellite transmissions."

"So maybe Marie saw a request with her fake signature and she got curious," Castle started.

"So she put in a request of her own to have the telescope scan that part of the sky, see what was so important." She stepped closer, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

He grinned at her nearness and slipped a hand to her waist. "So that's when she intercepted the weird signals - our coded data stream. She didn't know what she was hearing; it'd sound - foreign - to a layman. Perhaps even extra-terrestrial."

"After that she lost time," Beckett murmured, her fingers landing on a button on his dress shirt, her eyes on him. "She was abducted, but-"

"Not like Benny Stryker thought, not _alien_ abduction." He slid his fingers into the waistband at her pants, but she was stiffening.

"What do you know about Stryker?"

He flashed her a charming smile, pressed her hips into his. "I told you I'd been following you around for four days."

She narrowed her eyes at him but he dipped his head to brush his lips along her jaw, pause at her ear. "So it was Vaughn who abducted her, drugged her to find out how much she knew, see if she'd blown his cover."

Beckett shivered. "When he realized how close she was, that she had the data stream, he got rid of her."

"And he led you to the altitude chamber because he wanted you to believe it was the ex-boyfriend," he murmured, let his lips ghost her cheek.

She curled her hands into fists in his shirt, pushed him back.

"I have to arrest Vaughn," she breathed, and he could see her steeling herself against him.

"I'll help."

"Castle."

"I got my own cuffs," he said, wriggling his eyebrows.

"You do?"

"No," he admitted. "But I don't mind using yours."

* * *

She arrested Vaughn with a couple of members of her team for back-up; one of the guys, Esposito, was giving Castle the stink eye, while the other one, Ryan, looked spooked. All nervous and twitchy once the arrest had gone down at the man's home.

Vaughn looked like he'd been about to flee - bag packed, airline ticket printed out.

"We still don't have the information," he murmured in her ear, drawing close as Ryan led Vaughn away in handcuffs. "She found something and I need to secure it."

Beckett turned to him, her eyes hard and dark. "I know, Castle. We'll get it."

He crossed his arms over his chest, but she was walking away from him, heading for the police cruiser and Ryan. He snagged her by the elbow. "Beckett. Now."

"I've got to process the arrest and do paperwork."

"In case you've forgotten, the Chinese-"

"I haven't forgotten. I'll be fine at the 12th. And while I'm getting this settled, maybe something will strike me. A new place to look. Maybe Marie hid it."

He gritted his teeth and glanced past her to the two detectives posturing in front of their cars. Vaughn was in the backseat of the cruiser and Beckett was already heading over to her team.

"I'm coming with you," he said finally, growling at her.

She jerked back on a pivot, glared at him. "No. You are not."

"If you say it'd help - then let's go. Do your paperwork and I'll go over your case notes. Marie did _something_ with that information."

"No. You're not going."

"Yes."

"No, Castle. How am I supposed to explain your presence in my precinct?"

"I don't care what you say. I'm coming with you." He started forward only to be held up by the finger she poked in his chest, her narrowed eyes.

"No."

"Tell them I'm FBI. I don't care. I need that information, Kate. Thousands of lives depend on me retrieving it safely and keeping it out of the hands of the Chinese."

She was still glaring, but he could already see her relenting - the lines around her eyes were softening, her finger not jabbing him so sharply.

He kept silent, but reached between them to hook his finger in her belt loop. Not so anyone could see, just so she could feel his claim.

Her eyes flashed, but she didn't break.

"Kate," he said softly. "This is my job."

She closed her eyes. "Okay," she ground out. "Fine. You can come with me to the 12th."

* * *

"Just look at the timeline," she said with a growl. "Look at what she did the last week of her life, Castle. Jeez. Be a detective and not a bully for once."

"A bully?" he gasped, jerking his eyes to hers in a play of melodrama that had her rolling her eyes and trying not to laugh. "I'm a _bully_ now? Well thanks, Kate Beckett, thank you very much. I stand on a wall for you-"

"Don't think quoting lines from _A Few Good Men_ is gonna get you off the hook."

He sighed, all smirking and clever. "It won't?"

"Just - here. Sit down," she muttered and nudged him into the metal frame chair he'd dragged from the corner. He'd pulled it up right against her desk and had gone through her case notes as she'd composed her report.

"What are we doing?" he asked, hands filled with the case.

"The white board gets erased at the end of the day, so make it count," she said, shoving on his chair to orient him towards the murder board for Marie Subbarao.

"In the interests of national security, they can leave it up."

"No," she said. "I have two more murders to tackle, and I need the space. So take a picture or memorize it, whatever spies do."

"Shh," he growled. "Keep your voice down."

"Castle. They _all_ know. They're detectives. Jeez, the moment I introduced you, Esposito was running a background check."

"Oh." He looked disappointed and she rolled her eyes.

"Look at the timeline. Figure it out. If Marie had the information, she'd have done something with it, told someone, taken action that was out of the norm. Find the odd sock."

"Odd sock?" he muttered, his eyes drifting back to hers.

"Just - a term for the thing that doesn't fit, doesn't match. You know - every once in a while, your laundry comes out of the dryer and you've got one sock. No match."

"No match. The odd sock," he grinned. "I like it. Very good."

"Jeez, Castle. How in the world did you do this without me?"

His eyes were suddenly hot and hard on hers, intense. "I don't know, Kate. I have no idea."

* * *

He came back to her desk and sat on the edge, shoving aside a file folder to get her attention. Beckett looked up at him with dark, dangerous eyes and he felt that tightening awareness at the base of his spine.

"I'm stumped," he said, giving her a grin. His father had messaged him back, finally, to say he was on top of the _situation_. Just like his father to not use specifics even over a secure line. "Help me out here, Beckett. You're the detective, remember? I'm just a bully."

"You're stumped, so you're penalizing me?" Beckett muttered.

"Yes. Help me think. She had to have hidden it somewhere. She was taken up to the great mothership, but she didn't have it then."

"You mean the great mothership called Vaughn," she started, then stopped suddenly as her phone vibrated.

Beckett pulled it closer, read her text. Her face clouded and she lifted glittering eyes to him.

"Ryan and Esposito are still taking down the confession, but they're saying a spook is in the room with them, Castle. He's demanding they release Vaughn."

"Ah, crap." Castle grimaced and rubbed a hand down his face. "My father, most likely."

"Your father," she said stonily.

"I was hoping he'd deal with the Chinese for us. Apparently he had other ideas-"

"No. Not-uh. You and I had a deal. I am not letting Vaughn go; he gets tried for murder first." She jerked to her feet and pushed past him, toppling him off her desk as she headed for the interrogation room.

"Beckett. Wait. My father won't let you-"

"Oh yeah?" she hissed. "Watch me."


	7. Chapter 7

**Close Encounters**

* * *

How this man had slipped into her interrogation room without Beckett even noticing was a mystery. He was Castle but not Castle, like a more refined, more careful version. A man that would allow no entry, offer no respect, brook no distractions, a man she disliked on sight.

And not just because he was railroading her suspect's confession.

The disdain for her precinct was clear on his face. His eyes were not Castle's, and that helped, but his broad hands, the wide set of his shoulders, the looming presence were. Castle had learned or inherited the man's dominant stance, but in this man it was domineering rather than commanding.

"And you are?" he clipped, staring her down as she threw open the door.

"I'm Detective Beckett - the lead investigator on this case. You and I need to talk."

He seemed entirely unwilling to leave the room, his salt and pepper hair waving over his muddy brown eyes, his craggy face thick with age. "We have nothing to talk about."

Kate felt Castle come in behind her like a wall at her back.

"Yes, you do," Castle said quietly. There was steel in his voice, a core of strength that told Beckett he'd done this before, gone up against his father.

The older agent tried again, his voice clipped, cold as ice. "This is the man who-"

"I won't have you jeopardizing my case," Beckett hissed. "Outside. Now."

The older man's eyes moved from Beckett to his son, a slow slide that made her skin crawl. She sidestepped in front of Castle to interrupt the man's line of sight, got into his personal space.

"I don't think you heard me. That wasn't a request."

The sneer of amusement on his face made her fists clench, but he was lifting both hands in surrender and slipping out the door.

* * *

Castle watched Beckett lead his father to an unused room that housed a long conference table and a set of video monitors. She slapped the file down on the table and sat, arms crossed. Castle's lips twitched at her move, her confidence, and figured there was something to be said for ignorance.

She had no idea who she was dealing with. It made her brave.

He remained standing because his father did as well, but Beckett shot him a look over her shoulder. He didn't heed it; he couldn't. To back down in front of this man was asking for misery and derision.

He'd learned.

Castle leaned against the wall and affected an air of nonchalance, kept his eyes on his father - the true threat in the room.

"I don't believe I caught your name," Beckett said icily.

"I don't believe I gave it."

Castle narrowed his eyes at the older man, and his father waved a hand at him, gave up the game.

"Agent John Black, at your service. I see you've met my son."

"I'll assume that isn't your real name."

"You may assume whatever you like."

"I do understand that the Chinese are involved," Beckett pushed through. "But Vaughn is a murder suspect and he will remain here until booking."

"I don't think so," his father said. Black's eyes glanced once towards Castle but he shook his head. He wouldn't side with his father over her.

Black narrowed his eyes at Castle, but he merely lifted his brows.

"You heard her," Castle murmured.

"Really," his father drawled.

"Really," Beckett interrupted. "He doesn't have the information you're looking for. But I will find it. And when I do, I turn it over to Agent Castle."

"Richard," his father said, his voice edged with that cold disapproval he'd heard as a child. "You needed help to finish this?"

He didn't rise to the bait. He might have as an five year old abandoned at boarding school, might have shot off his mouth at thirteen - reckless and filled with arrogance, but when he'd turned eighteen, he'd divorced himself from that, controlled the part of him that _needed_, and renamed himself.

It wasn't like _John Black_ was his father's real name anyway.

He'd chosen something strong, impenetrable. He'd chosen Castle.

"Agent Black," Beckett said suddenly. "You need to leave my precinct; let me do my job. You'll get your information as soon as I - as soon as _we -_ find it."

"Richard."

"Either you're checking up on me," he said finally. "Or you trust me to do my job."

His father's jaw worked, his arms crossed, and the black disapproval that echoed his name began to ease out into the bland nothing that his father was famous for. Stone affect. A different kind of castle.

"Report from you in four hours, Richard." And then his superior officer was striding out of the precinct.

* * *

Beckett whistled, startling him so badly that he stumbled against the wall. She smirked and stood. "Your father is a piece of work."

"Try growing up with him," he muttered. "Or rather, not growing up with him."

She gave him a long look, tried to judge the meaning of his words, but it seemed plain on his face. He didn't like his father, and his youth had been lonely.

Loneliness. That was it, the thing stamped deep in his eyes. The thing that touched her, made her hold still when he reached for her. The little boy masked by the man.

Of course, once she was caught, it was the man that made her respond.

"Castle," she murmured, stepping up to him. "That wasn't his real name, was it?"

He shook his head, a short, derisive thing that gave her more insight than a hundred words.

"You don't _know_ his name?" she hissed, and her hands came up to his biceps, gripping.

He glanced away, then back to her. "I don't."

"But. . ."

"He picked me up from boarding school one summer when my mother didn't show. He said he was my father. I didn't - who asks his father if that's his real name? I went with him. Learned when I joined it wasn't."

"Castle," she murmured, felt herself leaning into him and had to push back. Couldn't do this here.

He seemed equally determined to not let it get to him. "We need to find that information, Kate."

"The timeline," she said, taking another step away, straightening. "Marie hid it, or gave it to someone, someone she trusted-"

His hand hooked at her hip for just a moment, and she stiffened, but he had a look on his face, the dawn of an idea.

"Actually," he said slowly, fingers tracing along her hip. "Who would you give something to? If you didn't want that person to even look at it really, just shove it away-"

"The ex-boyfriend," she sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Right. Of course. He said she'd given him some of his old stuff."

"Exactly," he grinned. "I bet he doesn't even know he's got it."

And then Castle was leaning in and claiming her mouth with a hot, fierce kiss.

"You're good, Kate Beckett."

"Your - your idea," she muttered, her mouth at his lips, his body close but not touching, so very close.

His hand reached up and caressed her face, skimming his fingers down her cheek. "Your timeline."

And then his thumb was tracing the seam of her lips and all she wanted was to slide her hands inside his shirt and show him what came next on her timeline.

* * *

"Mr. Carter, did you notice anything out of the ordinary in the things she gave you?" Beckett asked.

Ted Carter was an average man who probably lived an average life. He was unpacking the box of odds and ends that Marie had given back to him, laying them out on the conference room table.

"Nothing strange, no."

Castle reached out and poked his finger in a ratty tshirt, couldn't help thinking about the woman that had held on to it for all that time, how she'd probably worn it to bed for comfort once, then turned it into a dust rag later. How she'd boxed up this stuff and given it back to Carter in the hopes that whatever she'd found would remain hidden. She'd been banking on Carter.

"Anything here that you don't remember owning? Something she might have slipped in?" Castle asked, casting his eyes over the pile.

"It's all my stuff. Tshirts, books, Jefferson Starship CD-"

Castle smirked, shared his amusement with Beckett but she wasn't smiling. She took this seriously; this man had loved Marie at one point, shared her life, and a Jefferson Starship CD wasn't to be mocked.

He tapped the case, trying to get a picture of Marie's life, an innocent woman rather than a potential traitor, trying to see her as Beckett saw her. The detective was frowning at him, but he reached out and popped open the case, wanted to see if she'd-

"Two disc set?" he muttered, trying to catch the extra disc as it slipped towards the table. He flipped it over.

"Unmarked," Beckett said, reaching for it.

He snatched it back and she leveled an icy glare on him.

"No," he said quietly.

"You can't take it out of the precinct," she said, her voice dangerous.

"You're not secure."

She bristled and he raised a hand, the CD against his shirt.

"I mean. The 12th isn't a secure facility-"

"Oh no. I am not letting that out of my sight and you are _not_ drugging me again."

Laughter rose in his chest but he pressed his lips together to stifle it and slid his eyes to Ted Carter. "You mind if I take this?"

"No - not at all. It's yours. You. . .are the police, right?"

"No," Kate replied, as he grinned and said, "Something like that."

"No," she insisted and reached for the disc.

He let her take it, and she flushed, seemed surprised that she'd gotten it from him so easily.

"We view it together," he said. "And on my laptop."

"Your laptop? What laptop, Castle?"

"I'll get one," he grimaced. "I'll get a clean device without wireless capabilities and we will view it together."

She gritted her teeth but she nodded once and turned to Carter.

"Thank you for your help."

* * *

"I thought you said this wasn't about aliens," Ryan whispered, staring at the video playing onscreen.

"It's not aliens," Beckett said, rolling her eyes at him. Castle was already turning away from the laptop they'd set up in the conference room, looking disgusted.

"Castle?" she asked, following him out.

"That's not it," he growled. "Not the coded data."

"Well, but it's close, isn't it? That's your spy satellite."

He crossed his arms over his chest but he wasn't denying it.

"So Marie figured out that Vaughn was tasking her radio telescope to scoop information from this spy satellite, and she took that video as proof. We caught Vaughn before he could flee-"

"I've got to take Vaughn with me," he said grimly.

She stared at him. "No. You're not. He's _my_-"

"This is about national security, Beckett. He's got that data."

She threw up her hands to ward him off. "We have CSU guys still going over his place-"

"What if he already handed it off?" Castle growled at her.

She stepped back, her hands in fists at her sides to keep from strangling him. "You can't have my murderer. Marie Subbarao was one of the good guys, and she deserves-"

"While the thousands serving our country in the Pacific deserve _nothing_?" he spat out. "I'm sorry but it's not happening. Vaughn is coming with me."

* * *

At some point, she realized he'd stopped engaging, had stopped talking back altogether. She railed against him, cajoled, tried to sweettalk him into a different course of action, but he'd closed his ears to her.

He was taking her murderer.

A phalanx of his men stormed the precinct and liberated her prisoner before Beckett could so much as make a phone call to 1 Police Plaza. When Montgomery caught wind of it, he shoved Kate out after Castle.

"Police escort, Agent Castle," Captain Montgomery called out. "That's our collar, our case, our murder suspect."

Castle, who hadn't spoken to Beckett since his demand for Vaughn, turned back to them with a blank look, all emotion wiped clean. Beckett had seen that same look on his father.

And she didn't like it.

"I can't have the NYPD in my interrogation," he said quietly.

"Maybe not, but I can't let you take this man," Montgomery said back, striding down the hallway to stand firm in front of the elevator doors. Between two of Castle's guys, Vaughn was trembling.

Beckett glanced to Esposito, spoke to him softly. "You and Ryan work on the details of Vaughn's confession he's already given you. Nail everything down - scene of the crime, whereabouts, everything. We aren't giving this up."

"Got it boss," he murmured back, his gaze flicking over Castle and his agents.

Castle slid his eyes to Beckett as if assessing her. She straightened up, meeting his gaze, but absolutely hated the way her heart constricted. He was looking at her like he didn't know her, like everything that had happened last night was less than nothing.

He'd been charming, a rogue agent, and something cavalier and confident and clever in his bearing had called to her. But he was also that broken-hearted boy, and the man with no real home, and the one who'd touched her like she was something new, something he needed, something beautiful.

She'd known he had two sides, had sensed the war in him between professional and personal, and suddenly-

she wanted to fight for it.

Because she'd seen more in him than this.

"I'm going with you," she said, watched the hard flint of his eyes.

She saw the moment she got to him, saw the longing for her break through his cold demeanor, and then he relented.

"Fine. Detective Beckett. You're with me."

* * *

Vaughn had a bag over his head but Beckett rode in the front seat with Castle.

"Not happening," she said, shaking her head at him.

"Beckett," he sighed, holding the black hood in his grip. "It's a secure-"

"I've heard that before," she hissed. "I'll close my damn eyes, Castle."

He studied her, fighting the urge to either strangle her or kiss her. Why couldn't she make this easy on him? On herself?

"Drive," she growled.

It went against every rule in the book; it endangered a multitude of people who worked under him, depended on him to keep that location a secret, trusted him to do the right thing.

"Beckett," he said, swallowed hard. "You have to."

"Or what. You'll drug me again?"

He didn't have the injector with him; it'd been left at his place. She had to do this. She had to.

"Castle," she protested.

"Please, Kate," he said, heard his voice crack on her name. It was vital - to the security of that facility and to him. To him.

She turned her head away to look out the window, leaving him waiting for a long moment. When she turned back, resolve was in her eyes, but she reached out and took the bag from his hand, her fingers soft and cool and long against his palm.

He sucked in a breath as she drew the hood towards her, her touch still somehow lingering in his senses, and then she slipped the black cloth over her head.

She didn't speak to him for the rest of the drive.

* * *

"I had a handler!" Vaughn whined, wincing back from Castle.

He kept his fingers steepled at the side of his face, watched Vaughn twist. He didn't say a word.

"I swear. I don't know his name. He came to me!"

Castle lifted his eyes to the observation mirror, saw only his own reflection, but he knew Beckett was back there, watching, as his interrogation technician monitored the feedback.

But Castle liked to look at a man's face when he asked the questions, liked to see his twitching, the nervous gestures, the eyes looking off to one side when he lied.

He enjoyed building a psychological profile, detail by detail, layer by layer, story by story, and then using it to lay bare every secret thing.

Bring light to the darkest places of a man's soul and use it to put the screws to him, crucify him with his own twisted life.

"He came to _you_," Castle repeated slowly, his eyes lazy on the man in front of him, like he didn't believe him. Pretend he didn't exist, he was less than nothing.

Vaughn's nostrils flared. "He did. He approached _me_, and he said I was in a unique position to help him."

Castle gestured dismissively, felt Vaughn's indignation rise.

"In fact, he came to me each time," Vaughn hissed. "All I had to do was task the telescope, record the data, and leave it at the dead drop. Easy. So easy. I made hundreds of thousands of dollars, and I would never have been caught if it hadn't been for that bitch."

"Of course. You let a _girl_ ruin your sweet deal, Vaughn."

"What a bitch. I had everything. My handler was going to get me out of that shitty science center. Give me my own place; I'd be in charge of everything."

"Of course you were. Of course."

"You don't believe me? I dropped off the last of it only minutes before that bitch cop picked me up. He was going to collect it and then get me out-"

Vaughn jerked to a stop, his face flushing as he realized what he was saying and to who. Castle gave him a slow grin and lifted a finger from the table in mock salute.

"I know my rights. Where's my lawyer?"

"You don't get a lawyer here," Castle said softly. "All you get is me. Judge and jury, Vaughn. And executioner."

"You can't do that."

"You have no idea what I can do."

* * *

Beckett watched the interrogation from the observation room, stood silently behind the tech guy sitting at the computer monitors. Behind the glass, Vaughn was hooked up to devices that measured his biorhythms, told the Agency whether he was lying or not.

It made their precinct lie detector test look like a crude torture device.

Her phone vibrated as she watched Castle calmly taking the man apart, seeking the whereabouts of Vaughn's handler. _Minutes_ before he'd been arrested, he'd left the last of it in a dead drop for the Chinese.

Damn it.

She pulled her phone out, a text from Espo: _Vaughn's confession - 1400 block of Canal, Chinatown district. We've found a meat-packing plant with a vaccum sealer. Murder weapon. CSU is going over it now._

Chinatown district. If Vaughn killed Marie in the Chinatown district, was that because Marie Subarrao had followed their traitor to that dead drop?

Beckett watched Castle work Vaughn over slowly, the agent's coldness, his stillness, like a predator lying in wait.

Chinatown. _Minutes_ before. Could the Chinese handler be there now, collecting the last of the information?

She stepped forward next to the monitors. "How do I get a message to him?" she asked, pointing at Castle behind the glass.

The man half-turned to her, but kept his eyes on his readouts. "You don't."

"I need to let him know what our team found."

"The NYPD?" the man sneered.

"Listen, buddy," she growled, phone still in her hand as she pointed towards the observation glass. "The NYPD might have just blown this thing open, so you get me in touch with him. Right now."

The tech agent looked ready to ignore her again, so she strode forward and began pounding on the glass with both fists. She saw Castle's back stiffen.

"Stop! What are you doing?"

But she had Castle's attention; storm-clouds were in his eyes when he stood and faced the one-way mirror, but he turned and moved for the door.

* * *

She didn't like leaving Vaughn with the CIA, but she didn't see any alternative.

"I think Vaughn's given us all he will without more persistent methods," she said quietly, intensely, the two of them pressed together in a tiny operations room just down the hall. "Methods that are illegal, Castle. And as a NYPD officer, I won't let you-"

"What? You think I'm going to _torture_ him?" Castle scoffed, but a real hurt flared in his eyes.

To be honest, she didn't know. She'd have said no, never, but she couldn't be certain, could she? He was a CIA agent. "Were you?"

His eyes narrowed. "Sooner or later, Vaughn's going to give me the location of his dead drop-"

"Probably later, Castle. And we need this sooner."

"Then let me get back in there-"

She crossed her arms over her chest, stepped in closer to him. "You really think his handler gave him anything you could use? Would _you_ have given him anything that might lead others back to you?"

"No," he gritted out, shaking his head. His hands had come up to her waist almost unconsciously it seemed; he was both holding her close and holding her back. As if to keep her in place. "No, I wouldn't tell a thing to a weasel like that."

"The Chinese handler is going to be collecting that information soon, if not already-"

"I've got my men at Vaughn's place, at the Science Center, but his handler isn't going to be there. Vaughn's arrest by the NYPD was a little too showy."

"Oh, and that's my fault?" she murmured, stepping closer, crowding him. Intimidation tactic, and she knew it, but it was more than that. And she didn't _want_ to admit it was.

"Not your fault. Just an unfortunate side effect." His fingers swirled at her hip bones and he tugged her closer, their bodies practically touching. "I can think of another side effect - this one a lot more fortunate."

His eyes lowered to her mouth.

Beckett touched her tongue to her top lip, eased the chapped skin; she felt his fingers digging into her, bruising.

He was just as hot and bothered as she was, wasn't he? He wasn't unaffected by it, by the case, by working together, by the way they fed off each other.

"Vaughn gave us the location of the scene of the crime-" she started.

He was staring at her mouth. "What does that have to do with this?"

"We need to head to Canal," she murmured. "There's no way a guy like Vaughn knew of a vacuum-packer in Chinatown. Only someone-"

"Familiar with the area," he finished for her, eyes so darkly blue. "Like his Chinese buddy. That has some merit."

"That dead drop has got to be close to the scene of the crime, right? Marie followed Vaughn to see what he was up to, try to stop him maybe, and Vaughn killed her."

"He freaks, the spy comes along and helps get rid of the body. So if Vaughn just dropped off the last of that information then. . ."

She pressed in closer, drawn to the slow-burning pleasure in his eyes. "Then our Chinese spy will be there to pick it up."

"Smart is sexy, Kate Beckett." His breath was warm over her mouth; she parted her lips and he kissed her, light, teasing, staying surface.

Becket lifted her hands to trail along his chest before cradling his jaw against her palm and pushing him away. He pulled back with a slow slide of his lips, looking drugged, heavy with need.

"We gotta go," he rasped.

She swiped her thumb over that mouth. "I'm not wearing the hood."

"You'll wear it."

Damn.

She would.


	8. Chapter 8

**Close Encounters**

* * *

Castle reached over the console and slid his palm over her thigh. She tangled her fingers with his and he could hear the change in her breathing, a hitch that interrupted the quick rhythm of air. She'd been a little breathless the whole drive.

"You can take the hood off," he murmured. They were far enough away to appease his sense of safety.

She didn't release his hand - he took that as an acceptance of the apology he hadn't spoken - but she slid her fingers under the hood and pulled it off. He glanced at her with a laugh.

"Your - ah, your hair."

"I know. I hate you. Do you know how hard it is to get all this static out?"

He pressed his lips together in a smile, rubbed his thumb first over her knee and then against the side of her hand still tangled with his.

"You won't be laughing when I shock you," she muttered.

"We're about two blocks away from the meat packing plant," he answered, knew the amusement was still in his voice.

She hummed something like an okay and her fingers played with his on her lap; it made his heart - that long abused and misused muscle - set up a complementary rhythm against his ribs, straining to meet her.

This was exactly the stereotypical, CIA-agent method of seduction he'd used in a hundred other cases around the world, but this time was different.

This time it was ridiculous and bordering on unprofessional.

This time he wanted to stick around New York and see where it led; this time he wasn't holding her hand to get information or a lead or to develop a loyal asset. This time he just wanted to touch her.

When his car turned the block and came upon the CSU crew's van, she gently untangled their hands.

He withdrew to his own side, but she snagged his pinky with her own and met his eyes.

_Later._

* * *

She stuffed the black hood into his jacket pocket as they walked towards the front of the building. She felt his steps falter and smiled to herself, but he had a hand at her back and was guiding her through the open door.

Esposito ran into them in the long hallway. "It's down in the basement. You know these buildings all have tunnels connecting one to another, so we-."

"They do?" Castle interrupted, suddenly looking a lot more alert.

She half-turned to him. "For INS raids. The illegals slip out into a business down the block."

"Ah, I see. So you're saying they could've taken Marie from anywhere and killed her here, then put her back to where you found her in her car - and no one the wiser."

"Exactly."

"So what's the plan?" he asked, turning towards Espo. Beckett felt that stupid swell of pride that Castle was giving over to her team, and she had to press her lips together to keep from beaming at him.

Espo led the way. "We're sending teams of two out to see where these tunnels go, how far they extend. Where they end, we'll call in the CSU boys to go over it. We'll find that dead drop, hopefully, before the Chinese get it."

Beckett sighed. "We'll have to get warrants for all of the businesses up and down this block."

Espo shrugged. "Yeah. But if we can find traces of blood or something in the tunnels. . ."

"Might give us grounds to search the property," she admitted. "Okay. We have a base of operations set up to coordinate all this?"

"Right through here," Espo said, gesturing towards the open room where the guys were going over the vacuum sealer.

"Well, let's start spelunking," Castle said, his eyes turning to hers in the dim light. "Care to be my partner?"

She grinned back at him. "You got it."

* * *

They walked side by side in the relative darkness, just the blue beam of their flashlights hitting the dank edges of the concrete walls and the sound of their breathing.

She kept sliding her eyes to him, unable to look away, studying the line of his profile, the scars that delineated his skin, the strong and severe slope of his nose, the scrape of scruff at his deeply cut jaw - the ruggedly handsome edge he projected like armor.

And then suddenly he looked like a boy - the flush in his cheeks, the sensual mouth, the fullness to his chin, the happy blue of his eyes. He was Tom Sawyer on an adventure, charming and brave.

He caught her looking and groaned, coming for her, his flashlight hitting the ground as he slammed her against the wall, his mouth hot and his teeth torturous, his body pressed against hers.

She surged into him, giving it back, the buck of her hips and the force of this thing between them.

"I don't understand what you're doing to me," he murmured against her mouth.

She slid her hands inside his leather jacket, her chest constricting at the feel of him, the sound of his words. She'd always had a thing for a man who knew what he wanted and took it, but this man, this man had a core of need that made him gentle, and reverent, and adoring. The boy in the man.

"We should - back to the spelunking, Castle," she murmured, felt the hard bite of cold concrete at her back, the warm and solid press of him at her chest.

He worshiped at her mouth and moved lower, sucking lightly at her jaw until her hips canted into his.

He groaned and fell against her, hands splayed on the wall to either side of her ears, his forehead resting against hers. She stilled her hands at his back and breathed.

Not the time for this. Not at all the time.

"My father would kill me for this," he muttered. "It's so unprofessional."

"Screw your father," she grunted.

"You better not."

She laughed, a breathless and relieved thing that broke the tension and let her ease away from him.

"Come on. I promise not to screw your father if you promise to keep your hands to yourself until we get through this tunnel."

"How about mostly to myself?"

She pressed her lips together on a smile and reached up to tangle her hand in his, pulling it away from her face.

"Mostly then."

"You got a deal."

* * *

He shined the flashlight down the tunnel and then against the walls to either side, a slow sweep to be certain they'd not missed any hidden doorways, any sudden turn-offs. The farther they'd gotten from the meat-packing plant, the better the smell.

She was still tugging at his fingers with her own, a loose handhold that pushed him forward even as it made his stomach flip strangely. Like he was a teenager - or like it would've felt had he ever been a normal teenager, unafraid of a demeaning father's calculated attacks. _No weakness._

It might have felt like this, and maybe he'd needed all this time to be his own man, finally, to step out of the cold shadow his father cast and into his own life. It'd taken a Mata Hari to do it, but he wanted it now - he wanted everything this kind of freedom could offer.

The concrete walls were crumbling here and there, mold had settled into the cracks where dampness seeped, but she was warm and solid at his side, a strength. She was amazing, and he thought - he had an overactive imagination, but he had all kinds of visions flashing before him in this darkness. Most of them starred Kate Beckett against her sheets, but-

He wanted more.

This time he wanted more.

"So your father do that a lot?" she asked suddenly, sweeping her flashlight along the wall closest to her.

"My father. . .ah. Well. Once." It was still a bitterness in his mouth.

"Once too many," she muttered.

He took a long breath in, his lungs filled with both damp and Kate, and he let it out slowly, dismissed all logic and better reason and just went for it. He was going to lay it all out there and see what she thought of him.

"She turned out to be a double agent," he said roughly. "And this is all under the security secrets contract you signed, so-"

"She was a double agent?" Kate asked, half turning to him in the strange blue light of their flashlights.

"I figured it out but. . .my father was already sleeping with her at that point. He said it was because he knew - he thought he knew - he was testing her loyalty. . .and while that could be true-"

"Bullshit," she gritted out.

He sighed in agreement. "Bullshit."

"So has Agent Black always been this much of a bastard or is this a new thing?"

He laughed sharply, something breaking open in his chest. "Ah. Not new. No. Just the degree of bastardry. . .bastardness?"

"Bastardization," she offered, and he heard the soft amusement in her voice.

"Sure - that."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "What did she do to you?"

"Sophia was a mole, had been placed in the US as a child, but when the Iron Curtain went down. . .she became a mercenary for hire. Highest bidder. She was shipping nuclear stockpiles from the former USSR, Eastern bloc, and she got greedy or careless, left a trail."

"You went looking for proof that she was sleeping with your father, didn't you?"

He grunted. "I did. Never would have discovered her treachery if she hadn't been cheating on me. There's a lesson in all that I haven't wanted to look at too closely."

Her fingers squeezed around his, a warm and vital thing at his side. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed that, the touch of someone who cared. Sophia had been abrasive and aggressive and demanding, but without warmth, without that necessary tenderness that spoke of love. And with Sophia, it had all been a ruse anyway.

He smiled over at her. "You don't plan on selling nuclear weapons to Iran, do you?"

She hummed and bumped her hip against his. "Not at the moment. Can't promise the future, Castle."

He laughed at that, heard how broken it sounded despite himself. At least she was giving him honesty. Not that he ever expected to find himself on the other end of a gun with her, not like Sophia, but she wouldn't promise him that everything would be fine.

Still, she was the first woman with whom he'd actually believed it might. It might be okay.

It might be great.

* * *

The tunnel narrowed so tightly that they had to go single file. Castle was in front of her, leading the way (and entirely not how she'd have it), when he grunted and came to an abrupt stop.

She huffed and pushed into him, but he was raising his hands in a submissive posture of surrender.

Beckett froze. His shoulders were so broad that he filled the space, and in the darkness, she couldn't see past-

"Ah," he murmured, and she felt his heel kick her shin and then nudge her away.

"Agent Castle."

Oh shit.

She stepped slowly back, sliding her flashlight into the off position, easing into the darkness as she heard the man a few yards in front of Castle chuckle. She drew her weapon from its holster and breathed through her mouth, waited for her moment.

"Weapon on the floor, Agent Castle. Slowly."

Beckett shrank against the wall even as Castle drew out his gun from his shoulder holster, keeping his hands carefully in view of the man before him. A man Kate still couldn't see. He tossed it to the ground behind him but she had no idea where it landed, could only hear the strange echo of it clattering on concrete - away from her.

She still couldn't see; she needed a clear shot, but Castle was in the way.

"Ung Kyu. Should've known it was you," Castle was saying. "You're always _behind_ these things."

Had he stressed _behind _on purpose? Was that a message for her? She slipped farther back into the darkness under the cover of his chatter.

"Not interested in small talk, Castle. You're a useful political bargaining chip, so move."

Castle took his sweet time, talking as he did, making noise, giving Beckett the chance to slide back a little farther, keeping out of view. Kyu - most likely the Chinese handler - stayed ahead of Castle, apparently walking backwards as Castle came towards him. She couldn't get a clear shot, couldn't get past the wide shoulders of her partner.

When they were a few yards away, Beckett fumbled in the darkness at her feet for Castle's weapon but couldn't find it. She didn't dare turn on the flashlight, and she was already making too much noise, so she stopped, crouched in the tunnel to listen.

Beckett's heart pounded thickly in her throat, choking, but after a long enough time in the darkness, she matched her steps to Castle's faintly heard footfalls and followed after them.

* * *

They kept passing tunnels that diverged from the main; it grated on her nerves to have these open chasms at her back, but she pressed on after Castle.

She could faintly hear him ahead of her, giving her the bread crumb trail of his voice to lead her on, and she hoped he wasn't irritating the patience right out of the Chinese spy.

It was the last open passageway; she'd slid past it slowly, kept quiet; she'd barely made a sound, had only kept going after Castle, no real plan but to see where it all led, when she felt the cold metal at her neck.

"Don't move."

She automatically stiffened, but her hand flexed and clenched. The man at her back who had just come through the dark passage was close, the weapon even closer, already at the tender skin of her neck and pressing hard.

She balanced on her toes, geared up, the Krav Maga techniques flooding her brain.

_Redirect._

"Who are you?" she said, letting a note of hysteria enter her voice as she turned towards him. "What do you want? My wallet? It's in my coat pocket. Just don't hurt me."

"Put your hands up."

Now was the time to act.

_Control._

As Beckett moved her hands as if to surrender, she shot out in a rapid motion, slapped the gun down even as she rotated it one hundred and eighty degrees, effectively breaking her assailant's index finger as it got caught in the trigger guard.

_Attack._

He grunted, a choked scream that didn't make it out as Beckett punched the heel of her hand into his solar plexus, again, again, came up with a brutal jab to his nose that pushed the bones straight back.

_Take Away_.

Beckett twisted the gun back, pulled it clean from the man's broken finger. The Chinese agent fell back, bleeding profusely from his nose, and she pointed his gun at him.

Before she could even say anything, he collapsed on the ground. Beckett yanked her phone out of her back pocket and called dispatch, straining her ears to hear for something from Castle. Nothing. No sounds ahead - had they heard their scuffle back here in the darkness?

No more of this. She had to call it in; she couldn't go after Castle with this guy still back here.

"One Lincoln Forty, One Lincoln Forty," she hissed into her phone. "I have a suspect down, and one of ours taken hostage. I need back-up in the tunnels under the 1400 block of Canal."

"This is dispatch. Say again, One Lincoln Forty."

"1400 block of Canal Street. With the CSU team. Requesting back-up. One suspect down, one of our guys taken hostage."

There was a burst of entirely-too-loud static and then a voice as dispatch connected her with her team.

"One Lincoln Forty, this is Esposito - repeat."

"Espo. I'm in the tunnels. Agent Castle has been taken by a man named Ung Kyu - a Chinese spy. I've got another one here at my feet; I took him out."

"I've got back-up coming to your location. How far down are you?"

"Approximately one hundred yards."

"Got it. Help is on the way."

"I'm leaving this guy cuffed, broken nose, broken finger, and I'm going after Castle."

"Beckett-"

"Radio silence," she said. She couldn't even risk the glow of the screen in this unrelenting black - it would give her away.

Beckett turned off her phone.

* * *

When the tunnel widened out, Kyu made him go ahead into the darkness so that the Chinese agent brought up the rear. Better for Beckett, but bad for Castle. He had no play with the man behind him.

After twenty yards or so, the air began to clear out, like this section was used more frequently, and he could smell dry goods and vegetables, the tang of spices. Wooden crates were piled with sacks of rice, plastic bags of food, boxes of cereal and powdered milk. They seemed to be passing into the back storage of a grocery store, and Kyu was growing more at ease.

Castle began to devise a plan, figuring his odds were better here among this natural obstacle course than back in the narrower space of those tunnels, but then he felt it.

Beckett.

Castle could practically feel her haunting the passage just behind them. Ung Kyu felt it as well because he forced Castle to slowly backtrack the way they'd come. He still kept that two feet of distance between them, but now there slack and his guard was down just enough-

"Don't even think it," Kyu growled, aiming the weapon at Castle's head.

Still, Castle shifted a little closer, easing towards the Chinese agent. If he could get close enough, he could gain control of Kyu's weapon before he knew what hit him.

Just when he was about to make his move, the hard butt of the gun crashed into the side of his face, making him stumble, dizzy and aching, and then a kick at his ribs that dropped him to a pallet of rice.

He heard Kyu's snarl, a grunt from Beckett, and then she was being tossed across his body. Castle groaned and snagged her before she could roll off, felt the blood slicking his fingers.

He jerked upright, easing her back; she was unconscious. "Beckett-"

"She one of yours then? Good - two for one. After a couple years in Chinese prison, you think she gonna look as-"

Castle's kick caught Kyu in the back of the knee, but he retaliated with a vicious jab to the throat that had Castle retching and wheezing for breath, on his hands and knees on the floor. He struggled to his feet, swaying, bright beams of color swirling in his vision.

At a safe distance, Kyu regarded him for a long moment, the gun now trained on Beckett. "Get a move on it. You're carrying her."


	9. Chapter 9

**Close Encounters**

* * *

Beckett groaned as the rhythmic pounding in her head forced her back to consciousness. The hard jut of bone into her torso, the strange scent of sweat and rice and metal, the wet-

Her head was bleeding, her neck. Something. She was being carried - over Castle's shoulder?

She tensed and he gripped the back of her thigh tightly. She felt him press his cheek to her hip, his mouth at the skin of her waist where her shirt was rucked up.

"Play dead."

Barely a sound at all, but she knew what he meant. Not that hard to follow either, with the way her vision rippled and her stomach revolted. Her head ached in this position, but she could see feet following them - Ung Kyu.

She stayed limp over his shoulder, fought back the waves of nausea and the taste of blood in her mouth. It dripped down her nose and splattered the concrete floor, ran into her eyes. She was bleeding steadily, couldn't remember what had happened exactly - a burst of light in the darkness that blinded, the hand around her neck, her face meeting the wall.

Damn rookie mistake.

Her nose? Cheekbone maybe. Her face felt thick and sharp at the same time.

"Hey, can I stop and adjust? She's damn heavy," Castle growled, half turning back to Kyu.

Beckett pressed the toe of her boot into his thigh for that, but his grip shifted to her ass with a squeeze. She could've killed him.

"Whatever," Kyu muttered. But he stayed carefully out of range of either of them.

Castle was dropping to his haunches and setting her down on a stack of flattened cardboard, his hand at the back of her neck. She kept her eyes slit, saw the grim desperation on his face as he hovered over her. He was bleeding too.

"Can you do it?" he murmured, easing her down. "He's only watching me."

She knew what he meant, took a half of a second to assess. Her face ached, her ribs and stomach were bruised, her legs were bloodless and numb from being carried over his shoulder. No weapon. But-

Castle was sliding his arm under her neck, his other hand gripping her shoulder, eyes intent as he crouched over her.

"If you. . .propel me," she muttered back, felt her nose against his neck, the warm cave of him. "Spin me out. I'll disarm-"

"Got it."

She closed her eyes for a breath, gathered what strength she could find, and then she nodded.

"Do it, Castle."

* * *

He pretended to struggle to rise with her, let himself drop to one knee, Kate balanced on the stack of cardboard at his side. With his arm across his body to grip her upper arm and shoulder, he tensed his back and coiled his muscles.

_One._

Kyu grew agitated with the delay and cursed at him, stepped closer.

_Two._

Just enough closer.

_Three._

Castle yanked Beckett across his knee, felt the bones in her shoulder grind together as she rolled on her back across his thigh. In that instant, her body arrowed out on a grunt, and her kick caught the gun as her feet planted squarely in Kyu's stomach.

He heard the air whoosh out of Kyu, the gun skittering away.

Beckett dropped from his knee to the floor with the force of her momentum, but Castle vaulted over her and launched himself at Kyu, felt the impact of their bodies into the concrete. Kyu slammed a fist into the side of his head, brought a knee up, but Castle was bigger, heavier, and he drove his full weight into the Chinese spy.

The agent groaned and Castle felt a bone snap under the heel of his hand, followed it up with a lightning punch to the jaw, a blow to the nose, not stopping until he felt Kyu's breath rush out and his body release.

Castle sagged, put two shaking fingers to Kyu's neck, checked for a pulse. Nothing. He dragged himself off the guy, elbows buckling as he crawled away.

"Castle."

He grunted and lifted up to his knees, saw Beckett struggling to rise. "Bleeding."

"You are too," she muttered, a hand coming up to cover one eye. "He dead?"

"Yeah."

She was breathing hard, still trying to stand, so he got to his feet with a muffled curse, his head swimming, and held out his hand.

"Can't," she bit out. He finally noticed how her shoulder hung strangely.

"Did I-"

"Think so."

"Shit-"

"I'm okay. Just. Get down here and help me up."

He wasn't sure he could. His head was swimming. He bent down and slowly circled his arm around her waist, pressed his cheek to hers, blood to blood, and hauled her upright.

She pitched back the moment he got her standing, so he clutched her tighter, felt his own body listing heavily.

"We're both gonna go down," she grunted, her head moving slightly, her lips brushing against his ear.

"Sit. Sit then," he agreed, adrenaline still making him shaky, his grip on her waist tenuous at best. He angled her towards a tall stack of plastic-wrapped cardboard boxes and they both fell into it.

She grunted on something that sounded like a laugh, raised her hand up to feel her shoulder.

"It could be-"

"Just - strained. Sprained maybe. A pinched nerve? Feels numb. What happened to your head?"

"Pistol-whipped earlier," he grinned, felt the blood that had dried now cracking as he did. "Then he punched me again."

"Jeez," she muttered.

"All in a day's work."

"He really dead?"

"Yeah." He studied her battered face, the way she gingerly held herself away, the tension in her body. "You got moves, partner."

She hummed something and closed her eyes, let out a long breath. "Make a good team."

He moved tentative hands towards her face, hovered without touching. "Your nose."

"Not broken," she said, licking her lips. "Swollen but not broken."

"You ever break your nose before?"

"Yeah. Once. Felt sharper than this." Still, she was wincing with every word.

"I have too. Three times. You know when it's broken."

She gave him a crooked smile. "Did my phone drop out of my jacket pocket back there? I can't find it."

"Ah, guess so. When he got you, maybe it fell out then. You got back-up coming?"

"Yeah. But we took a couple of tunnels off the main. . ."

"We should get going then. Lead them back here."

She closed her eyes again and he sighed. His whole body felt rearranged - he didn't relish the walk back.

"You got your phone?" she murmured.

He laughed - and it hurt - but he dug around in his jacket pockets until he found it.

"My brain's. . .a little scrambled," he admitted, glancing at her.

She was swaying again, her eyes blinking slowly as she looked at him. Then she fell into his side, her cheek hitting his shoulder, and she groaned, one hand clutching his lapel.

"Time to hit that panic button, Castle."

He hit the panic button.

* * *

"I am not going out on a stretcher," she growled. "Hold me up, Castle, or so help me, I will-"

"Okay. I got you." He gripped her by the arm and lifted her to her feet, ignoring his father's watchful, ever-studying eyes.

She groaned and he felt her heavy pull against his grip, the way her body released. "Castle," she grunted.

"I got you."

"How's your head?"

"Not right."

She laughed at that, a whine coming into the sound at the tail end that made her growl and stand up straighter.

_Good girl._

His father approached while the CIA agents were hauling off Ung Kyu's body.

"We've found a USB drive - initial reports confirm it's the classified information." Agent Black's eyes drifted to Beckett, then back to his son. "Looks like this was a near thing."

He kept his mouth shut, gripped Beckett harder when he felt her bristle.

"Agent Castle," his father said slowly. "Get cleaned up. Debrief in. . .hm. . .I'll give you two hours."

And then his father walked away.

"Damn," he whistled, winced when his whole face vibrated with it.

"He's a major asshole-"

"He called me Castle."

"What?"

He sank back against the pallet of cardboard boxes, felt her stumble and come with him, her body pressed into his.

"He never calls me Castle."

She lifted her head to look at him; he met her gaze and knew it was all over his face, knew it and couldn't help it.

"So that was his way of saying good job?" she murmured, a note of incredulity in her voice.

"Yeah."

"That does it. You're coming to meet my father. He's _normal_." She grunted and pushed off of him. "At least. . .after your debrief and after I've downed a couple hundred advil and my face isn't swollen to twice the normal size."

He chuckled. "Don't want to scare him."

"You could use a good clean-up too."

"Yeah. A shower. A really long shower."

"You getting me out of here, Castle, or we just gonna stand around and daydream?"

"Let's get out of here," he muttered, in his daydreams already inviting a naked Beckett under that spray.

He pushed off the pallet and brought her with him, his grip still firmly at her bicep, holding her up. They made their way through the crowd of CIA spooks going through the storage area, had just gotten to the back door of the grocery store when her team came barreling over the threshold, sweating and flushed and pissed.

"Oops," he muttered. "Should've called your back-up."

"Oh no," she groaned. "Esposito. Ryan-"

"Beckett," they growled, in stereo, and the sound echoed in Castle's head.

"Agent Castle, what the hell did you do to her?"

"Boys," she rebuked. "I feel like crap. Let's do this later."

Esposito and Ryan flushed, looked at each other, and then turned around, made a battering ram back through the mass of agents, leading them back outside.

Finally.

* * *

With Espo and Ryan harping her, all he had to do was wait. Eventually, Beckett relented and agreed to let Castle take her to the CIA's medical center. He led her out past her team and unlocked his car doors.

"Where'd this come from?" she growled.

"Black left it for me. Slipped the keys in my pocket."

"Your father."

"It's his usual m.o., Beckett. He says nothing to my face, but he takes care of everything."

"Seriously, _messed up_," she muttered, stumbling into the front seat of his Charger.

When he pulled the black hood out of his jacket pocket, she leaned over the console and twisted his ear. "Richard Castle. I am concussed, I can barely breathe through my nose, and you want to put a bag over my head?"

"Ow." He dodged her grip and rubbed. "Not like I'm not already hurt here, Beckett. Jeez. You know the rules. This is a secure-"

"Not happening. I'm closing my eyes and laying the seat back, and you just - drive. I don't even care."

He shut the car door softly after him and watched her curl on her side in the seat, her eyelids droop.

He pushed the black hood into his pocket and started the car.

"Should you really be driving?" she muttered.

"Got no one else, Beckett. Stuck with me."

* * *

She floated on a soft susurration of painkillers, pillowed on an army cot inside a strategy room deep inside Richard Castle's secure location.

Holy shit. How had this happened?

He sat beside her on a fold-out metal chair, arms crossed over his chest, watching her, attempting humor.

"You talk in your sleep."

"Do not," she slurred back, cracked an eyelid to look at him. "Don't you have. Something. Debrief. Debrief in a few?"

"Thirty minutes. You sleep."

She hummed in confusion and let her eyes shut. "Not sleeping. Thinking. Stay with me."

"Kate." His voice was so soft, so carefully tender. "I've only got thirty minutes to stay."

"That's not nearly enough time, Castle," she sighed, slowly blinking at him. Not nearly enough time for all that beautiful-

"I'll stay here as long as they'll let me."

"How's your face?" she muttered, slitting an eye again.

"You're really out of it, Beckett. That's the fifth time you've asked."

"So tell me for a fifth time."

"You say that every time."

"No, last time, I said _fourth time_, didn't I? Not stupid. I can count."

He chuckled at her and she frowned, but he uncrossed his arms and sat forward with his elbows on his knees. "Not stupid. My face aches. The second I debrief, I'm crawling in this cot with you and sharing your IV."

"Mm, sounds lovely."

"Uh-huh."

She opened her eyes again and reached out with her free hand, stroked her fingers from his knee to the top of his thigh, sighed. She felt dragged down. She was going to fall asleep.

"There's an agent outside who'll come in and wake you, check the concussion," he said quietly. She barely heard the words. "Sleep while you can."

"Crawl in with me when you're done," she murmured.

"Holding you to it."

* * *

Ah, of course.

His father had set up their debrief in one of the currently unused interrogation rooms. All smooth, blank walls and the cold hum of the nearly-silent air conditioner. Ridiculous.

Castle sat down before Agent Black could gesture towards the chair; he eased back into it, watched the man.

Black lifted one carefully groomed eyebrow and nodded in concession, pulled out the other chair, but didn't sit himself.

Castle didn't care. He'd been through these minds games of his father's for so long now that it hardly mattered. He'd stopped _trying_ so hard.

Of course, sometimes it got to him; he struggled to not let it penetrate. This man might be his biological father, but he was no parent, never _dad_, and certainly not someone to confide in.

Somehow, it was easier today than it'd ever been. To simply not care. It was Agent Black standing across the table, not his father. Just his superior.

"Well then, Richard-"

"We recovered the information?" he said, striking first. He'd learned it from the man himself.

"Ah, yes. The USB device contained the last of it, and so far, our team has discovered two other flash drives with more data. It appears that a majority of it never went out of the country."

"Good. Then Beckett was right."

"This was. . .Beckett's? plan."

"Yes, sir." He folded his hands in his lap, crossed one leg over his knee. "She put it together. Well, we bounced it back and forth, but she was the one who thought the scene of the crime would be close to the Chinese spy's base of operations."

"We've discovered a few hidey-holes."

"Yes, sir. I imagine the clean-up effort will uncover quite a lot."

Agent Black regarded him for a long moment, then dropped a file folder on the table in front of Castle. "Cairo. You'll have 36 hours to. . .rest-" Black lifted an eyebrow at the word as if to indicate quite the opposite, "-and then your deep cover assignment begins-"

"No, sir," he said quietly, staring down at the mission folder. He'd longed for a top assignment like this. For years. Ever since he'd known anything at all about his father's line of work, Castle had wanted only to get away. Deep cover. Short ops into international hot spots was nothing like this.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm putting in an official request for six months' psychological sabbatical."

"No, you're not. You're heading to Cairo and infiltrating-"

"Six months. All agents who request psychological sabbatical are granted it. Are you my father or my boss?" Castle said calmly. He already knew the answer, knew what always came first to this man.

"Your-" Black narrowed his eyes and curled his hand into a fist. He was still standing, so Castle stood as well.

"Are we done here?"

Without waiting for an answer, Castle left.


	10. Chapter 10

**Close Encounters**

* * *

"How's my favorite detective?"

The softness in his voice tugged Kate gently back to consciousness, and she opened her eyes to see Castle standing just inside the doorway, leaning against the wall. Still in that ragged suit, bruises and cuts on his face, but his eyes so blue in the dim light of the infirmary.

Kate grinned slowly at him, blinked to clear her vision. "Okay. Tired." He was still just standing there, watching her. "How's my favorite spy?"

He straightened up, a smile creasing his lips. "Not as much a spy anymore, Beckett."

Kate licked her lips and squinted at him in the dark, warm room, tried to figure out what the words meant. But she was lost, and the significance evaporated into mere sound. "You already debriefed?"

"I am. And-"

"So come crawl up with me," she murmured, slipping a hand out from under the scratchy army blanket and wriggling her fingers at him. "Hurry. 'Fore I fall back asleep."

He came closer but only stood over her for a moment more, studying her. All she could do was wait, feeling herself slip in and out of a leaden consciousness.

And then Castle was sliding into bed with her, carefully easing his arm around her waist and pressing his lips to the back of her neck. It felt like a moment, like a decision was being made that she knew nothing about, and she stroked her fingers down his forearm, felt the ripple of muscle and sinew and tendon under the soft sheath of his skin.

"Castle?" she murmured, turned her head to look at him.

He lifted slightly over her, pressed another kiss to her neck, the side of her jaw, the corner of her mouth. "I need sleep before we. . .I need sleep. And so do you."

She settled back into the pillow, covered his hand with hers at her stomach and drew his arm up against her sternum. She brushed her fingers over the back of his, found herself perversely coming back from the dark edge of sleep towards a sharp awareness.

She felt a knot under her questing fingers, pressed gently at the ridge along his wrist. "What's this?" she murmured.

He huffed at the back of her neck and drew his arm tighter around her. "Scar."

"From what?"

"A scimitar."

"Are you kidding me?"

"I wish. Long story."

"I got time," she smiled, stroking her thumb and fingers over the raised knot. "Did it break your wrist?"

"Yeah. I was being punished for stealing; he tried to lop my hand off. Blade was old and just dull enough to not cleave-"

"Jeez," she muttered, twisted her fingers through his and squeezed. "A sword. You nearly got your hand chopped off by a sword. Where was this?"

"Uh. I can't tell you that."

"Castle."

"I really can't. I mean, most stuff I've done, I really could explain a little, but not that."

She sighed and melted back into his chest, felt his fingers flex as if in remembered pain, his touch so close to her collarbone. "I have a story," she murmured.

"We comparing scars now?"

She grinned softly in the darkness and guided his fingers to her collarbone just inside her shirt, felt with him the puckered scar at her skin, sensed the tension that crept into his body as he realized.

"You were shot?"

She murmured something in agreement, traced the edges of the bullet wound at her clavicle. "I was shot."

"You gonna tell me the story?"

"Yes," she laughed, stroked her thumb against the back of his hand and smiled to herself. "I got shot over a purse."

He chuckled in her ear, eased his body half over hers as his hand angled her mouth to meet his. A soft kiss, a trail of them down her jaw, and then his teeth nipped at her collarbone, his tongue soothed the thick edge of her scar.

She ran a hand through his hair and rolled to her back, let him touch, let him press his mouth to it until he drew back finally and stroked his thumb under her eye.

"A purse."

"Complicated, but a smuggler was hunting down copies of this purse that had accidentally been sold with his fake passports inside. He had killed the guy who sold the purse, kept killing as he went after it - that's how I caught the case. I was at the apartment of a young woman who had bought one and-"

"He came looking for it."

She nodded against the pillow, watched the flare of interest in his eyes. "He did. Shot me in the kitchen while she was in the back bedroom packing a bag. I pulled my weapon-"

"You were shot."

"I was but-" She shrugged and saw that he knew. He knew exactly. "I was back behind a butcher's block; he was shooting wildly, all over the place, and I had to wait him out. Let him think he'd gotten me."

"He did get you."

"Well." She shrugged against his hand at her collarbone, tilted her head to kiss the sharp jut of his chin. "He made a break for the back bedroom and I shot him. Center of mass. And then in the neck."

"He didn't stop coming?"

"He didn't stop coming."

His arms wrapped around her and his mouth came down to hers, a soft thing that belied the terrible tension in his body, the haunted look in his eye.

She'd come _that close_. She knew that feeling.

His fingers stroked lightly over the bruises on her face, too soft to hurt, and she closed her eyes as she felt his mouth come to her ear.

"I was off the coast of Somalia. Pirates. I scuttled their boat and spent two days at sea with a compound wrist fracture before the CIA could pick me up."

"Two days," she murmured, stroked the hair at the nape of his neck, felt that strange combination of horror and pride. He'd survived; he was here.

He was hers.

* * *

He jerked into wakefulness the moment the door clicked open. Castle was out of bed and at attention before his father's vision adjusted to the darkness.

"Sir."

"Agent."

Castle lifted a hand towards the door and ushered his father out into the hallway. The concrete blocks of the bunker were harsh under the fluorescents, and when Castle glanced back to Agent Black, his father looked equally pale and florid.

"Agent Castle, your request for six month sabbatical has been approved."

"That was fast," he blurted out, wincing internally at his lack of discipline.

His father's face twisted like he'd stepped in something distasteful, but his customary rebuke didn't come.

"I pushed it through, Richard. You've got your six months."

Castle gave a short breath of relief and nodded. "Thank you, sir." He hadn't expected that.

But even though it felt like the conversation was over, his father stayed at his side, hands clasped behind his back, staring into the middle distance.

Castle waited, as he so often had, until the hard look on his father's face gained some resolve.

"Richard, this. . .woman."

"Detective."

"Detective," his father conceded. "This is the reason for your six month leave?"

He said nothing; he'd learned that it was best to let his father make up his own mind about the things Castle did.

"I had a similar. . .experience with your mother."

He what?

"But I found that it doesn't work for men like us, Richard."

Castle looked away, the bitter taste rising in his throat. Beckett wasn't his flighty and irresponsible mother; Castle wasn't his closed-off and intractable father.

And he hadn't gotten her pregnant either. Jeez, they hadn't even-

"Just keep it in mind," his father said softly. "That's all I'll say."

And then Agent Black - who had never really been much a father at all - departed with that bit of fatherly advice ringing in Castle's ears.

* * *

She woke to the sound of an engine and the rhythm of driving rain against the roof of a car. Kate blinked slowly and watched the thunderstorm outside the window, realized after a moment that Castle had tucked that scratchy army blanket around her.

She smiled into the darkness and lifted a hand to her face, gently stroked over the bruised heat of her cheeks. The swelling had gone down, but the scratches were still raw and her skin felt warm to the touch.

Kate turned her head to him, saw the easy grace of his body in the seat, the way he cradled the steering wheel. He felt her looking, apparently, because he cast her a swift glance, a smile that was warm.

She smiled back slowly, even though it hurt, and leaned her head against the passenger side window.

"So this time you drugged me."

"Better than the hood?" he said back, a little grin in the dark interior of the car.

She gave a soft laugh at that and reached out her hand to him over the console, stroked his forearm. "I don't know, Castle. You have such a way with women - kidnapping and drugging-"

He choked a little at that and she chuckled, slipped her hand back in her lap as she watched the storm.

"Almost to your place," he murmured then, and she leaned into the side of the door as he turned onto her street.

Of course, there weren't any spots close, so he ended up double parked at the front of her building. "Hopefully you won't get too soaked."

Kate glanced towards the doors and then back to the man in the driver's seat. She didn't want this to be over. She studied the quiet on his face, the depth in those blue-dark eyes. "Want to come up?"

"You're-"

"Bruised. And my shoulder. I know." She bit her bottom lip at the flash of carefully controlled lust in his eyes, and shook her head. "Also still drugged. So. . .not tonight. But-"

"Yeah," he said quickly. "Yeah, I want to come up."

Beckett pressed her lips together and nodded down the street. "So park, Castle."

"You should get out and-"

"A little rain's not gonna hurt me."

Castle gave her a crooked grin. "Not much hurts you."

She didn't know why, but she wasn't proud of that.

* * *

Castle took her hand with the intention of dashing through the rain towards her building, but she tugged her hand away, walked at a normal pace, let the rain fall. She was soaked in seconds, her hair dripping in her eyes, shirt plastered to her skin, and he just watched, let himself join her, his leather jacket sticking to him, his shoes uncomfortable.

But he didn't rush her; he let her have this moment, her wide smile and the way she kept tilting her head back like she was sneaking a few drops. He'd sent guys to her apartment to check on things, and he didn't have the best news for her, so he wanted to give them this, wanted to soak up her joy like water.

"Feel good?" he laughed, reaching out to lightly stroke a wet strand back from her bruised cheek. It snarled and she wrinkled her nose, then groaned at the movement, brought her hand up to her face.

Her nose wasn't broken, but she had the two black eyes that usually went with it. The drugs had taken down the swelling and the edge off the pain, he was sure, but he knew from experience she'd be sore for a while. She'd wake with it throbbing, but at least he'd be there tonight to insist on painkillers.

"Come on, Castle." She was moving for her front door, and he was still standing here watching her. So he followed her inside, dripping with rain water, and she led him up the stairs to her floor.

He needed to let her know about her apartment. "Hey, Beckett?"

She half-turned to him, an eyebrow raised.

"I had a couple guys come by while you were still out of it," he said. "Just to check on things."

"Because of those gunmen in the van?" She reached back for his hand again. "Thanks. Did they find anything?"

"They had to replace the door, the locks. I've - uh - I've got the new keys here. You'll need to go through and make certain nothing was stolen, but my guys said it just looked like they searched for us and left."

She had come to a halt on the landing, her eyes dark in the pale half-moon of her face.

"They. . .broke into my place."

He nodded, laced his fingers through hers as he pulled the keys out of his pocket. "Dead bolt, front door," he said, holding them up.

She took a long breath in and closed her fingers around the keys. "Thank you."

He didn't like that blank look in her eyes. "You okay?"

She rolled her shoulders and started forward again. "I'm okay. Never had my space violated like this before. It's. . ."

"Disconcerting."

She huffed a breath at that, gave him a dark look over her shoulder as she led the way down her hall. "Understatement, Castle. Huge understatement."

"Yeah, sorry. I'm used to - well, no, I'm not used to my place being broken into. Honestly, you're the only other person who's ever been inside."

She was shoving the key into the lock but she gave him a swift look, confusion mixed with tenderness, and then she shook her head and pushed open her door.

"Well, here we are. Again. Sorry it's not-" She shrugged, and he knew she was thinking about what they wouldn't be doing tonight. What they both wanted to do. What he so desperately wanted to do.

"I have to say," he murmured, stepping in behind her and sliding his hands at her waist, tugging her hips back into him. "If I spend all night watching you sleep - again - you'll hear no complaints from me."

She turned to look at him, and he couldn't resist the long column of her throat. He pressed his mouth to that papery soft skin and touched his tongue to the flutter of her pulse. He'd never wanted someone like he wanted her.

"Castle," she whispered, her hand coming up to slide around his neck, her head tilted carefully away.

He traced a soft finger at the edge of her bruised eye. "I promise. I won't hurt you, Kate."

"No one can make those kind of promises," she murmured and lifted those rich, unfathomable eyes to his.

"I want to," he answered, stroking his thumb down her neck, not sure if he meant _promising _her or _having_ her. "I want you."

She lifted her mouth to his, a push of her teeth before she smiled and broke away. "So take me, Castle. See if you can live up to your promises."

* * *

She was grateful for the way his eyes were intent on her mouth, the way his fingers gripped her hips like he was barely restraining himself. Grateful for the hard press of him and the urgency in his throat that came out in moans, like he couldn't control himself, like she was torturing him.

He rocked his hips against her, her back to the wall, and Kate groaned and sank down onto his thigh. She unfurled her fingers from his shirt, tried to pop his buttons with one hand, kept her other hand close to press her fingers to his bare chest. His mouth landed on hers, teeth at her bottom lip, and she moaned into him, frustrated by the clothes still between them, needing more.

"Kate," he moaned. Castle was panting against her, his heartbeat knocking into her cheek, bruising her, and she hooked her arms around his neck, lifted up into him. He swore on a groan, a ragged sound that echoed in her apartment.

She opened her mouth to his biting kiss, and he knocked her hands away, gripped her thighs. Her muscles knotted at the hard press of his fingers, and he drew her legs around his waist. She hung on to his neck with one arm, her other hand trapped between their chests, let him walk her backwards into her bedroom.

Even if he did hurt her, she wouldn't mind.

* * *

They were still clinging together, half-leaning against her headboard, foreheads touching, her breath hot and just beginning to slow. Her pulse beat heavy in her cheeks, her nose, made her eyes ache, but as her heart stopped its mad rush, her body loosened and melted against his.

She stroked the hard edge of his ribs and drew her hand to his spine, his skin warm, sweaty to the touch. He was breathing hard, still coming down, and she knew she'd eventually feel every bruise, every pulled muscle, but she was still drugged. On him.

He scooted them down into her bed, brought her against his side, face to face as he pressed loose kisses to her mouth, her jaw, her neck. She curled her fingers in his hair and appreciated that while he avoided, had avoided, all the injuries, he hadn't said a word about them. He had just gone for it, took what she offered, pushed them both over the edge.

"That was hot," he muttered, a grin sliding his lips wide against the slope of her chest. His five o'clock shadow made her body fizzle. "You're amazing."

"I'm half-high on painkillers. Give me 24 hours and we'll see if we can't add a few more superlatives."

He grunted on a laugh and found her mouth again, but he was settling down, warm and heavy at her side, still carefully avoiding her injured shoulder.

Aware of it again, she kept her arm close and used her other hand to stroke her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, felt his breath slowing against her collarbone.

"By the way," she murmured, tilting her head down to kiss his temple. "You're pretty amazing yourself."

"Mm, I try," he grumbled at her chest, his mouth still entirely too wicked.

She was tired, and he was ready to drop off into sleep, but she knew she'd never get a better chance than now at cracking through all his barriers.

"What does tomorrow look like?" she said softly, fingers still tracing abstract patterns in the bare skin of his neck, his shoulders, down his spine.

"I like the view from here," he laughed, his breath sighing out at the end.

She pressed her lips together on a grin, closed her eyes to revel in that. "Mm, me too. I meant. Are you headed overseas now that the case is closed?"

He was silent to that, and she hastened to reassure him. She didn't need or _want _to cling to him like a barnacle every day - like he was doing to her now, actually. She just wanted to be able to plan. Maybe take the day off when he did get back in town.

"I'll save New York, while you go off and save the world."

He huffed at that, a humming breath as he nudged his nose into her skin, sighed. "You kick ass. I like that. You're seriously hot."

She grinned. "You could send me postcards from Somalia or China or wherever." She touched her mouth to his forehead on a grin. "All in code. I could spend the time I'm not working a case trying to break the cipher-"

"Naw," he chuckled, his arm suddenly tightening around her waist and his body drawing closer to hers, a press of heavy heat that made her breath catch. "Not going back out for six months. Asked for leave. Gonna stay right here, do this."

And then his body was slumped into hers, his mouth open at her shoulder, entirely, thoroughly asleep.

Do this? He was staying _here?_

That wasn't the deal.


	11. Chapter 11

**Close Encounters**

* * *

He woke when she slipped out of bed, winced at the clock on her bedside table. Four in the morning. He didn't move to follow her, certain she needed space - he knew her type - and instead let himself drift in the darkness of her room.

He was awake though. Too many years of training, covert missions, sleeping on the run - too much time spent needing to be on alert meant he couldn't turn his brain off. He liked the warm peace of her bedroom, the half-cluttered and half-comfortable scattering of mementos and artifacts from her life. He could build a profile of her from the troop of ceramic elephants on her shelves, the framed print on her wall, the pressed flower in glass on top of her bedside table.

Memories, a sense of home, a craving for the wisdom of her elders. Probably her mother, who was out of reach from her now, thus the Tibetan prayer flags strung at her window and the elephant poster over her bed. A cross propped up at her dresser, resting against a beautiful wooden box, another figurine, but this time of a fist.

Power and the past. Time's ruthless march and the treasure of ancient things. Preservation - both of her own personal history and also of herself. The workout dvds he'd seen in the living room, the yoga mat, the pull-up bar across her doorway - she was a woman who paid strict attention so that she'd never be caught unaware again.

Ah, that was why she'd left the bed.

Castle shifted to a seated position and loosely clasped his arms around his knees. He'd said something to her about _doing her_ for the next six months, hadn't he? Yeah, it was coming back to him now. And she'd been talking about spy games and postcards.

She didn't want him stomping around in her life for the next six months; she wanted a man held at a distance, preferably an ocean's distance. She wanted a sex buddy.

He'd been that. He didn't want that. He wanted-

To fall asleep in this bedroom with its history and permanence. He wanted something to come home to, something to make it home for, someone.

He was a CIA agent and he was a professional liar, stalker, kidnapper, killer - but he wanted this between them. The first good and bright thing he'd ever held in his hands.

He wasn't going without a fight.

* * *

Beckett startled when his chin came to the top of her head, but she curled a hand up to his cheek as he brushed a kiss against her neck.

"Mm, you smell good."

He came around the couch and instead of instantly attaching himself to her, he headed for her kitchen. She watched him in surprise, eased back against the cushions in relief.

"You up for good or just restless?" he asked, opening her fridge.

"I don't know. Restless, I think."

"I'd hope so," he muttered.

"Don't worry," she smiled at his back. "You thoroughly wore me out."

"And that was only once, Beckett," he tossed off, giving her a quick look over his shoulder.

She laughed at that, got to her feet to follow him. "Okay, not just you. The whole fighting a Chinese spy and doped up on drugs thing - that might be part of it."

"Better be it, for your sake. Like my women with a little more stamina," he teased, wriggling his eyebrows at her as he pulled milk out of her fridge.

"I feel I'm being unfairly reviewed here. This kind of thing requires empirical trials, repeated-"

His mouth came to hers, choked off the last of her words, made her laugh into his kiss. He eased up, as if suddenly remembering the bruises under her eyes, her aching nose and cheeks. But when he pulled back, he didn't mention it.

"Repeat performance?" he murmured. "I can do that."

She expected him to push her right back to bed, but he turned to her counter again, pulled out two mugs from her cabinet. He poured milk into them, elbowed her gently aside as he moved to her microwave.

She stared at him.

"Warm milk," he explained. "Helps me sleep."

"If I'm up, usually I work on-"

"On your mom's case?" he filled in, lifting a hand to her elbow.

She nodded slowly, studying him. "You really did spy on me-"

He gave her a cute, lopsided grin, all caught little boy. She'd never seen quite that look on his face before; it made her want to curl her arms around his neck and press her body into his, taste that smile.

So she did, a grunt escaping her lips when she lifted her injured arm. She ended up pressing her forehead to his neck instead, sucking in a breath. He was wrapping his fingers at her bicep and sighing at her, slowly lowering her arm until it was pressed against her side.

"They offered you a sling, and you refused, didn't you?" he muttered.

"I'm not wearing a sling," she growled.

"Then don't move it, Beckett. Do you know how hard it was to avoid jostling your arm while we-"

She bit his neck and smiled at his yelp, pressed her lips to the spot. "I'm fine."

"Take some more pain reliever; let's ice it down."

"I don't want-"

"Ice until we go back to bed," he insisted, his fingers stroking lightly at her shoulder.

"I think I have a package of frozen broccoli in there," she sighed finally, lifting her head from his neck.

He grinned and the microwave went off; he pushed her towards it while he moved for the fridge again. "I'll get the veggies, you get the milk."

"I want hershey's syrup in mine," she muttered, and _yes_, she heard herself. Whining like a child.

"I'll get that too. I saw it in the door."

"Are you sure you didn't see it when you broke into my place and took an inventory of my fridge?" she muttered.

"I didn't-" He huffed at her as he came back to her side, dropped the chocolate syrup on the counter. "You're being sarcastic. Right. You're pissed I was following you around?"

"Stalking me, you mean? No. Just think it's a little creepy, Castle, now that I know you."

He laughed at that, took his mug of hot milk from her before she could lift it very far. "Now that you know me it's creepy?"

"Yeah."

He shook his head but she didn't have an answer for that; she squirted chocolate syrup into hers and took the teaspoon he offered her to stir it.

Jeez, it was like he lived here.

Mm, this was divine. Hot milk, the swirl of chocolate, the warm male body at her side, the brush of his fingers as he-

"Ouch," she barked, jerking instinctively away from the press of frozen vegetables against her shoulder.

"Stop being a baby. You're the one who refused medical treatment. Now it's like I've got to triage you in the field."

She wrinkled her nose at him, but he didn't seem to care. She did though. Her face flared with pain and she dropped the act, closed her eyes to still the hard beat of her blood against her fragile skull.

"Seriously, Beckett, if you were one of my guys? You'd be benched for six weeks for refusing treatment and ignoring-"

"I'm not one of your guys. I'm a homicide detective and it's just a little-"

"You are one of my guys," he muttered, adjusting the ice on her shoulder so that she hissed. "You're on my team now, whether you want it or not. You're officially a CIA asset, Kate Beckett."

She sighed, pried open an eyelid to see how serious he was about that. "I don't want to be-"

"Too late. Should've thought of that before you insisted on chaperoning me with Vaughn in that interrogation."

"Whatever." She felt his chest at her back as he held the ice in place, then the peculiarly hot flex of his other hand at her waist, fingers drifting under the hem of her tshirt. "What does that even mean - CIA asset?"

"It means you're on call, twenty-four/seven. For me. Whenever I want you," he husked, his voice dropping an octave as his mouth brushed at her neck.

She took in a deep breath, let her ribs lift into his touch. "Whenever you want?"

"I want."

She swallowed and pressed back into him. "Thought you were icing my shoulder."

"I'm good at multi-tasking," he murmured, his mouth opening at her skin.

"Milk's getting cold," she breathed out.

His fingers spread along her skin. "I got something better than milk, Beckett."

She turned her head and kissed him, gave herself up to the inevitable.

* * *

When Castle woke on his stomach to early morning light and the heat of a woman in bed with him, he was primarily disoriented, but secondarily defensive. He drew his hands up, pushed off the mattress-

Beckett.

Right. Wow, right. Okay. They'd done that.

Yeah, yeah, they really had done that.

More than a few times.

Castle grinned and lowered himself back into bed, the momentary flash of training beginning to ebb away as reality replaced whatever nightmare had been showing in his brain. He turned on his side to look at her, lithe and svelte and all those wonderful words that described a woman like her, a woman he'd just made love to.

A woman as sleekly gorgeous and beautifully strong as Kate Beckett.

Her face looked terrible.

Castle laughed softly and lifted two fingers to skim her cheek. The skin was hot and tight. Swollen then, and it'd hurt like hell when she woke. He brushed his fingers at her mouth in a kiss, and slipped out of bed.

In her kitchen, the package of frozen broccoli was melting in the floor, the two mugs of milk were still out on the counter - one had spilled when she'd gripped-

He shook his head on a grin and set to work cleaning it up, recalling in vivid detail how it felt to press her up against her kitchen counter, how strong and hot her body, how her fingers laced with his, the edge of her arousal bleeding into his.

She was amazing. It would be a constant battle with her, but that was part of the attraction; she made him work for it.

He had to just throw away the broccoli - he had no idea if that stuff could be thawed and then refrozen, and it was better not to take chances. Once the counter was clean, he dumped the milk out, put the mugs in her dishwasher. He checked the time - only six - and raided her cabinet for pain reliever.

Her coffee maker whirred to life as his back was turned; he spun and crouched, fumbling for a weapon that wasn't there. His heart rate slowed only when he found the source, chuckled dryly to himself as it began to percolate. Must be a timer.

Yeah, she usually woke at six for work; he knew that. Made sense.

Shit, he needed a break, needed to take himself down from high alert.

He'd only just filled a glass with water, set out pills, when she came in from the bedroom in that shirt again, a t-shirt that barely reached the tops of her thighs. He saw a flash of black panties as she lifted up onto a stool at the bar.

"Morning," he said, smiling slowly at her and nodding to the tylenol on the counter. "Take that. You'll feel better."

"I feel like I got run over by a gorilla."

He laughed, leaned into the heels of his hands on the counter. "Oh yeah? Gorilla. New one."

"Well it's not a truck. I've been hit by a truck once-"

"A truck," he repeated slowly. "Woman, you are all about disaster."

"I was on the job-"

"Yeah, well, I'm on the job and I've _never_ been hit by a truck."

"The bastard wouldn't stop. He had evidence."

"Are you telling me you got hit by a _garbage_ truck?"

She glared at him, but it evidently cost her, because she lifted a hand to her cheek, fluttered there without touching anything.

"Take the pills. Coffee is almost ready."

"Coffee maker wakes me up," she murmured.

"You can hear it? Or smell it?"

"Probably both. Attuned to it now - it's like an alarm."

"Well, since we're sharing. A gorilla woke me up once."

"Bullshit," she said, lifted an eyebrow to him.

"Yeah, bullshit," he admitted, laughing and leaning in to kiss her mouth softly. "You got me."

"I'm getting good at figuring out your lies, Agent."

He stroked the inside of her raised palm, kissed it. "I only embellish the truth. It's like telling a better story."

"Lying, you mean." But she curled her fingers around his, had a smile for him that was _thank you for last night_ and _let's do that again_, and he was up for it.

But first. "Pills. Seriously, we should cool it, because your head has got to be killing you."

She sighed, relenting he could tell, and he knew it was true. "Yeah. Little bit." She reached out for the tylenol, rolled them on the counter once. "Actually, I have stuff stronger than this. I-"

"I'll get it." He moved back to the medicine cabinet and she laughed.

"Oh, look at that. Super Spy doesn't know where _everything_ is, huh? It's in my bathroom." She stood up from the bar stool and skimmed her hand at his waist as she moved around him, kissed his shoulder before heading back through the living room towards the hall.

He watched her go, felt that strange liquid warmth in his chest, just like the time he'd been shot.

Like his heart was pumping the blood right out of his body.


	12. Chapter 12

**Close Encounters**

* * *

They ate breakfast side by side and she wondered when he'd go.

Why was he still here?

"So. . .six months, huh?" she said finally, breaking the silence as she spooned cereal into her mouth. He'd offered to try to cook something, but they both knew it'd be a disaster.

"Six. . .yeah. I asked for leave."

"You told me," she murmured, gave him a look. "Right after-"

"Ah. I'm usually not so chatty in bed," he sighed.

"I can see how that'd be a detriment to a CIA agent."

"You think?" he laughed. "You do things to me, Beckett. Not sure they're all good."

She nodded back, saw the seed of seriousness in his eyes. "Yeah," she echoed. "Look, I can't be your CIA asset."

His mouth twisted and he looked away. "Why not?" His voice was hardened now, removed.

"It won't work," she said simply.

"Sure it will."

"It interferes with my job - a conflict of interest-"

"We're on the same side here, Beckett," he said softly.

"Castle. It doesn't work for me. I - my job already sucks up all of my time. And that's how I like it. Being your asset would mean. . .it's a commitment I can't make."

He was silent at that, his thumb rubbing the top of his spoon.

She hurried on. "All of my free time, all of my extra effort goes straight into solving my mother's case. She was murdered, Castle. She was stabbed in alley and left there to die. She was my - I have to do that first. I have to."

He turned an intent look to her, his eyes so sharply sky-blue, his face a road map. "I know you do. And I can help you, Kate. Let me help you."

She shook her head, but his hand was covering hers, squeezing.

"We make a good team. Imagine what we can do with CIA resources, with all my contacts in the field, and your knowledge of this case - Kate. Kate, we could solve it in the next six months."

Something was crowding her chest, something sharp and mad was waking up and she didn't know how to breathe around it.

"Kate. Let's do it together. You come in as my CIA asset, and we put this thing to rest."

She clutched his hand like a lifeline, everything churning in her guts. He'd see what she was like when-

But maybe it was the only way.

"This time. . .without the hood?"

He huffed a laugh and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, dragged her into him for an embrace she felt down to her bones. His fingers tangled in her hair, dragged it back from her face so his mouth could work at hers.

She opened for him, let his tongue invade, let him think he'd conquered before she rose up, mounted her rebellion. Her body surged into his; he rocked back on the stool as she wrapped her legs around his waist. When groaned into her mouth, she slid her hands down his back, tugged the tshirt up over his head despite the stiffness in her shoulder.

"Maybe this time," he growled, his mouth roving down her neck, nudging the collar of her shirt. "Maybe this time _with_ the hood."

* * *

She sat in the vee of his legs in her bed, the sheets and blanket tangled around them, his cheek scraping hers while he held the ice pack to her shoulder. The black hood was draped over the knob of her metal headboard and she smiled to herself, bit her lip as Castle reached past her.

"What's this one?" he murmured, his words stirring her hair.

She bit her lip and examined the contents of her mother's case spread across the messy bed, files and notes and photos, evidence and the stuff from her mother's desk and the copies of her cases.

"The two of us," she murmured, taking the photo from his hand. "Ice-skating."

"Look how cute you were," he laughed, his body draped over hers like a warm blanket, a strange contrast to the ice.

She snorted. "I was something. Terrible. I fell too many times to count."

"But you're so graceful."

"Not at that," she sighed, felt her body tense as he reached for another photo, sifting through her stuff. "Castle. Why don't we wait and-"

"No, let's do this now."

She had to make fists in the sheets to keep from snatching it all back, taking it away from him. He was disorganized in his approach, touched everything, wanted to spread it all out. He wanted to do this _now?_

"What if I want to _do_ something else?" she said, slipping her fingers up his thigh.

"You can't resist me. I know; no woman can. But just hold off on the lust, Beckett. I want to know you better. And not just _know_-know you."

She bit back the first retort that sprang to mind because she knew it was frustration talking. And not her sexual frustration.

"Honestly, Beckett, I don't think you could take another round." He shifted the ice at her shoulder to make his point and she barely bit back the grunt of pain.

"I get your point," she hissed, elbowing him.

"Good. Now tell me about this."

"It's just the last roll of film she had developed before her murder - family stuff. The negatives are somewhere in this mess you've made."

"Not a mess," he disagreed. "This is my form of the timeline. It's her story. Layers and layers."

Kate shivered hard - it was just the ice melting, the condensation - and watched him move unerringly to the packet of negatives. She didn't want to see them, her mother's face, her own, the innocence.

He held the negatives up to the light and she looked away, her eyes falling on his suit jacket hung carefully from the back of her chair. She could see his holster beneath it, the dark shadow of his weapon, and it made her mouth dry.

She wanted him. Here. Wherever. However. Their sex was fantastic and she was half-dead with exhaustion, but it was more than that. More than his body and his gun. Just what, she didn't know. . .but she had six months to figure it out.

Have her heart broken.

His thigh twitched under her fingers and she realized she was stroking along his bare leg just beneath his boxers. She turned her head with a slow smile, opened her mouth to explore that spot at his neck, but he let out a startled breath.

"Hey. There're photos missing."

"What?" she rasped. Her movement arrested mid-motion, she stared at him.

"Yeah, a range of them. See on the negatives? It goes from you and your father - who looks very nice, by the way. Normal, like you said. And you're right, I should meet him. Sooner rather than later, explain my intentions-"

She slapped his shoulder and yanked the negatives out of his hand. "There are some photos missing. How did I not see that before?"

He was silent for once; she felt his arm slide around her waist, his hand splayed at her stomach, stroking slowly. She rifled through the stack of photographs one more time, searching in vain for that row of three or four that just - negative space, the flare of a wall or rock?-

"Castle, help me," she muttered, holding the film up to the light again. "What is this? What are we looking at?"

His mouth settled lightly at her neck, his arm bringing her body back flush to his chest. She realized her arm was shaking only when he drew his own hand up to enclose hers, bring the negatives back down.

"We'll figure it out. I can get one of my guys to print the images."

He was sliding out from behind her, already leaving her bed, but he went only as far as his jacket pocket. She sat there for a moment, hands clammy in her lap, before she realized what he was doing.

"Castle-"

"I'll send the images to my guy right now," he said. "Takes only a moment and he's always on duty."

She watched him take photos of the negative, felt that too-tight squeeze of her heart in her chest, couldn't figure out how to breathe around it. "Castle," she gasped.

He turned his head to her finally, thumbs pausing over the keyboard on his screen. "Kate." He got up immediately and came back to bed, slid in at her side, his mouth at her temple, his other hand cradling her by the back of her neck. "You asked me for help. You've got it. Six months, remember?"

He meant it. He meant to give her the next six months, to put the entire force of his CIA resources at her disposal to _solve her mother's case._

She lifted her hand and feathered her fingers at his cheek, over his brow, down his nose as she stared at him. He turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss to her fingertips, snagged her thumb between his teeth, but his eyes were light, and so clear winter-blue, and he was only waiting.

Waiting on her to figure it out.

"Okay," she said finally. "Six months, partner."

* * *

**the end**

stay tuned for the New Adventures of Spy Castle in Episode 2: The Man With the Golden. . .ahh. . .yeah. Actually, here's a sneak preview, slated for sometime in January, and oh yeah, COMPLETELY UNEDITED SO I APOLOGIZE. this is for cartographical, who begged me rather obscenely.

* * *

"What are you doing?" he rasped, rooted to the spot, his eyes caught by the bold, black title: _Broadway Productions, 1970._

"You're poking around in my life, I thought it was only fair that I do the same."

His heart pounded painfully, his fingers flexed before making fists at his side. "Beckett."

"Oh, it's Beckett now?"

He growled and stepped back, realized his hand was reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. Three weeks into a six-month sabbatical and he still ached for the protection and security of his service weapon. His father would say it was a crutch.

It was.

He scraped a hand down his face. "What have you done?"

"I looked up your mother."

"You don't even have a _name_-"

"I found someone I think is your mother," she amended, raising a hand defensively to him.

Castle made an effort to relax his stance, lower his voice. "You don't know-"

"Read the article, Castle."

"No."

She narrowed her eyes at him, came forward to crowd him back into the bookshelves that closed off this space from the main aisle. "Castle."

"I'm not interested."

She leaned in, her fingers sliding at his waist and hooking over his belt, tugging. He swallowed hard - it really wasn't fair, the way she blatantly used her body to get him to obey - and tried to close his eyes against her.

"Fine," she gritted out. "I'll summarize it."

"Beckett-"

"It says, _After a long-speculated hiatus, the incredible Martha Rodgers returns to the stage in-_"

He shoved her away, spun out of the alcove, stalking for the stairs, the exit, a way out-

"Richard Castle, do _not_ walk away from me."

His body halted before he could even make up his mind one way or another; traitorous legs, the way they turned him around to face her.

Her eyes were dangerous. "You don't get to ignore your past while you go mucking through mine."


End file.
